


Darke Beginnings

by runawaygypsy



Category: Jaguar "British Villains" Commercial, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2017-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-17 08:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1380640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawaygypsy/pseuds/runawaygypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on Tom Hiddleston in the Jaguar commercial. I felt the need to invent a name and a story, so here it is: Lucien Darke has always gotten what he wanted. His desire to win along with his sociopathic tendencies and dashing good looks lead him to a powerful position in a criminal underworld.</p><p>Smut in later chapters...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter #1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not at all sure exactly where this will be going, how explicit it is going to get, or what, so, enjoy the ride.

DARKE SKIES  
Chapter #1

Lucien Darke was brought up a child of a privileged household. He wanted for naught and was afforded anything and everything his young heart desired. He had been named Lucien because it meant “Light,” and he was the absolute light of his parents' lives, always a bright smile, dimpled cheeks, and dancing blue eyes, but he also had the worst temper, a hot side that established itself whenever he was denied something he felt was rightfully his. For the most part, this aspect of his personality was largely kept at bay by those around him catering to every whim. This coddling extended well into his adolescent years.

Everything changed in his seventeenth year of life. That summer, Lucien had been staying at his friend William's family cottage on the shores of Lake Como. The boys often went out swimming during the day and would occasionally invite some some of the girls from neighboring cottages out for a row during sunset. Of course, the girls all thought this to be terribly romantic, but the boys only had one thing on their minds. 

There was a particular girl, Lucien's same age, anmed Giselle, who was staying with her family at a resort on the far side of the lake. She was beautiful, dark hair, dark eyes, olive complexion, a creature wholly different from any of the other girls, and because of this, drew the boys to her like moths to a flame, including Lucien and William.

On a dusky night in late July, one of their friends had the idea to have a bonfire on the public beach and throw a party, as kids of that age are often wont to do. William's parents had gone for the evening, invited to a black tie soiree at the resort, leaving him and Lucien to fend for themselves. Taking advantage of the situation, the boys raided the liquor cabinet and the refridgerator, arming themselves with a fifth of whiskey, some schapps and a case of beer to contribute to the night's festivities. 

Darkness fell and the party was in full swing, the fire roaring, people with cups of booze or bottles of beer in hand, some dancing, some conversing around the fire. Lucien and William were of the latter group, seated on the far side, happily nursing their beers, when Giselle arrived. She glanced furtively around the crowd, her eyes seeking out a familiar face. Her gaze stopped at William and she smiled. Luicien, however was the first to stand up and greet her. “Giselle,” he grinned, “how nice it is to see you.” He ran his hand through his short sandy blond curls, turning on the charm, as he waited for her to respond.

“Oh, Lucien, hi,” she answered awkwardly, then sat down next to William in Lucien's former seat. “William!” she exclaimed, embracing him as Lucien grew red with embarassment. 

A masque of rage began to form on Lucien's face and smoldering, he stomped away from the fire, grabbed a bottle of alcohol and sat down next to a tree on the outskirts of the party. He watched as everyone else enjoyed themselves, among them William and Giselle. The two kept getting progressively closer, eventually holding hands, exchanging looks, and finally, sharing a deep kiss. 

All of this continued to enrage Lucien. He wanted Giselle, plain and simple, and, being someone who always got what he wanted, was prepared to get it by any means necessary. His inhibitions began to evaporate as he swigged more from the bottle, while his anger and resentment grew. Unable to control the monster inside of him any longer, Lucien rose from his spot, raged toward the place that William and Giselle cuddled, raised the now empty bottle over his head and brought it down hard on William's crown. “I wanted her, she was going to be mine!” he screamed and began pummelling William with his fists.

Giselle looked on in horror and the fight began to draw the attention of the other party goers. William tried to fight for himself, but the concussion from the bottle rendered him clumsy and uncoordinated, every swing towards Lucien missing its mark. 

One of the older boys grabbed Lucien's arms and pulled the raging beast from on top of his beaten friend, trying to calm him down. “Lucien, it's not worth it,” he said, “No girl is worth that.”

Realizing that he was now sobbing, Lucien relaxed and fell in a heap to the ground. Giselle looked at him with hatred as she tried to minister as she could to William's wounds. In the distance, there were sirens. Someone had called the police and an aid car. Frightened, Lucien bolted upright and ran, barricading himself in William's cottage.


	2. Chapter #2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the incident at Lake Como, Lucien is sentenced.

“Mr. and Mrs. Darke, could you please come into my office?” summoned Dr. Gregory, PhD. The couple shuffled quietly into the room, taking the two empty chairs that sat at the closest side of the doctor's desk. Their son, Lucien, sulked on a large leather couch that was positioned adjacent to the door, his eyes down turned, his mouth in a pout, his demeanor a study in abject boredom. “Mr. and Mrs. Darke,” the doctor addressed as he sat in his own chair opposite them. “Your son is what I would categorize as a sociopath. He knows exactly what he is doing, in fact, is a study of control, however, only cares about what affects him personally. He has no compunction for the feelings or well-being of others. I am glad that the court ordered him to my care, rather than sanctioning him to one of those juvenile facilities. It is rare that we have the opportunity to treat someone so young with this, before he can become a blight on the face of humanity.”

Wide-eyed, Mrs. Darke looked at her husband, then to her son, then back to Dr. Gregory. “It's all my fault,” she gasped through the veil of emerging tears, “I've coddled hum his whole life, I've spoiled him!” She began to sob and covered her face with her hands, letting the spasms wrack her fragile body.

“Mrs. Darke, this is not something that your parenting would create. Science is not yet sure how this happens, whether it be brought on by genetics or in relation to chemicals during development in utero. There is no reason for you to blame yourself.”

Mr. Darke put his arm around his wife, “See, darling,” he comforted, “It is not your fault.” He held her close until her tears began to subside, all the while watching Lucien as he fidgeted on the couch. His attention turned to Dr. Gregory. “What can we do?” he asked.

The doctor handed him a piece of paper that he had pulled from a file on his desk. “This is my treatment plan,” he explained, “I put this together after my initial interview with Lucien and, upon the recommendations and support of my colleagues, would like you to allow me to care for him at Sutton Hospital. I believe the facilities there will be optimum for his treatment and that removal from his current environment will aid in his recovery.”

“So our son is sick?” Mr. Darke shook his head. “Sick enough to remand him to an asylum?”

“We prefer to call them sanatoriums, and yes, your son is sick. This is not anything that we can see, it's a sickness inside his head. I believe that with the proper medication and treatment, basically a reprogramming of the way he thinks, we can help him.”

Lucien had been absent from the conversation, preferring to watch out the window as he shifted himself around on the couch, but when he heard the discussion about placement in Sutton Hospital, he snapped to attention and zeroed in on Dr. Gregory. “You can't make me go,” he glowered, “I don't have to.”

“Lucien!” his mother reprimanded, “You do have to go! Your father and I can't do anything to save you from this. You made your bed, now lie in it!”

It was the first time that Lucien had really ever heard his mother speak to him in such an abrasive tone. His face drained and his blue eyes widened. He felt as though he had been slapped and his cheeks reddened in accordance. Tears began welling and he sniffed, “You said I would never have to do anything I don't want to.”

Her look softened along with her tone. “I was wrong,” she said, “I was so wrong. Sometimes, as an adult, you have to do things you may not want to do...” Her eyes dropped and she buried her face into her husband's shoulder, sobbing once again.

Lucien watched her for a moment, then, steeling himself once again, proclaimed, “I'm not.”

His father stood up, pulling his wife up with him. “Lucien,” he said stoically, “You are a man now, and we are doing this to make sure you turn out to be the right kind of man, the kind that can make a difference in the world, not one that serves himself only.” He smoothed down his suit jacket and held out his hand to his only son. “Now, son, your mother and I are leaving you in the care of Dr. Gregory.“

Lucien turned away, ignoring the outstretched hand, ignoring the continued sounds of his mother crying. “Then go,” he said coldly.

When his parents had left the room, Dr. Gregory sighed, “You really should have listened to your parents, they want only the best for you.”

Crossing his arms across his chest, Lucien huffed, “They never loved me, I was an inconvenience.”

“Why do you say that?” Dr. Gregory was beginning to get intrigued.

Lucien stood from his perch and strode over to the window. He watched the silhouettes of his parents in the street light as they got into their car and drove away. “Do you know why I was sent away for the summer?”

“I would guess it was because William's parents had thought it would be a nice gesture of friendship.”

Lucien spun around, his eyes ablaze. “It was because they wanted to go on holiday by themselves and not have to drag me along!” He screamed, the pain in his voice evident, “They paid William's parents to take me along. William and I were mates in school, well enough, but I was never even consulted on whether I wanted to go!”

“Would you have enjoyed the trip they took?”  
“That's beside the point,” Lucien sighed, dropping his arms and allowing himself to relax. “My whole life, I was left in the care of someone else. Friends, nannies, anyone besides my parents. While they lived the life of a childless couple, I became my own child.” A solitary tear, borne of grief, anger and loss, rolled down his cheek and his breath heaved in relief.

Dr. Gregory moved to stand next to him and tried to put his arm around him, but was brushed away. He chose then to sympathize with Lucien in another way. “I am sorry that you have been forced to think of yourself, for yourself, by yourself, but, until you learn to think of others, you will have a hard road, young man.”


	3. Chapter #3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien makes a serendipitous connection while incarcerated in Sutton Hospital and his homecoming is not what he expects.

Days stretched into months, stretched into years for Lucien as he lived, ate and breathed as a captive to the world of psychotherapy. His existence at Sutton Hospital a droll one, save the fact that he was afforded a tutor to continue his education. That was the one consolation he received from his parents, that he should not let the inconvenience of confinement mean that his mind would go soft. He whiled away the hours when he wasn't being questioned and studied by Dr. Gregory and his cronies on his books. His favorite tomes were, oddly, “Siddhartha” and “The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.” Two books that were so opposite of each other that he reveled in their differences. When he was released, he already had received word that he would be able to attend a prestigious private university, his record as a juvenile offender expunged and his stay at Sutton explained away as a sabbatical.

A majority of the patients and staff at Sutton did not interest Lucien in the least. They were such ordinary people, lacking in any vision beyond day to day existence and the walls around them. There was, however, one fellow patient, an older fellow by the name of Martin Goins, who intrigued him. Goins was no ordinary man. He came from another wealthy family and, what he lacked in education, made up for in ingenuity. Goins had committed himself to Sutton as a sort of respite, having suffered a breakdown after the death of his wife and only son in an automobile accident the year before. Previous to the tragedy, he had been an esteemed businessman and a trusted pillar of the community. Lucien reminded Martin of his son so much that the older man took younger man under his wing. He taught Lucien the ways of the businessman and was pleased that Lucien had such an affinity for it. He was eventually so impressed with Lucien's acumen that he offered him a position within his company after his graduation from university.

On Lucien's part, he was enthralled with Martin and thirsted for any and all learnings the man could impart. He was fascinated by Martin's descriptions of dealings with a crime syndicate, how he held his own and was ultimately punished, his punishment being the accident that killed his family. Lucien knew that Martin was a broken man, but he had no doubt that his friend would make a full recovery and hold up his end of their bargain. 

The men spent months of their confinement together in the common room, huddled in the corner, scratching notes with pencils on bits of scrap paper they had procured from the orderlies. No one knew, or cared to know what they were hatching, for, to the staff, they were the crazed ramblings of two committed men, and to the other patients, they were non-entities, just more crazy faces in a sea of faces. To Lucien and Martin, they were a promissory note, a contract, and proof that they would one day have revenge on the world that had wronged them, for, in their eyes, each was a victim of his own circumstance and each yearned to prove something to the world.

On the day Lucien was finally released from Sutton, he and Martin shook hands and bid each other adieu, the promise to rejoin once Martin was released solidified. “I will be waiting for you, my friend,” Lucien smiled. 

“I am counting on it,” Martin returned. They embraced and patted each other on the back one last time and then Lucien exited towards his waiting cab.

As he sat in the cab, Lucien thought darkly, “They can't even come get me themselves.” He stewed over his parents' slight, marinating in hate the whole ride home. While psychotherapy had worked wonders ridding him of the violent rage he felt when things did not go his way, it had done nothing to repair the relationship he had with his mother and father. They sent checks for his schooling well enough, but had not once visited him while he was at Sutton, even though Dr. Gregory had encouraged them to come, to ensure Lucien that he had a place in their lives.

When the cab stopped in front of the manor house, the windows were all dark, the curtains drawn, and there was no sign of life within. The cabbie helped Lucien unload his bags from the car, for during his stay, Lucien had acquired quite a few books, and left, a small spiral of dust from the gravel driveway in his wake. 

Lucien approached the door, unsure of he should knock, ring the bell, or walk in. It was still his home, but he had been gone for so long, it seemed, that it had ceased to become a home and had turned into only a house. He opted for the latter, turned the handle and let himself in. “Hello?” he called, his voice echoing down the empty halls. He reached to the switch on the wall near the door and flipped it on, illuminating the familiar foyer. Nothing had changed, it was still as he remembered.

The sound of tentative footsteps approached from one of the corridors an soon the wan face of his mother appeared from the shadows. “Hello, Lucien,” she greeted quietly. She approached him with more caution than familiarity and delivered a small peck on the cheek. She barely recognized her son. Gone was the lanky, blond haired boy she had loved and laughed with and in his place, a man with darker, shorter hair, grown into his height, features more angular, the same blue eyes, but where there had been happiness reflected in there depths, there now resided the darkness of pain and betrayal. She wasn't sure if this man standing before her was her son or a stranger now.

“Mother,” Lucien answered. “Where's my father?” He felt so stiff, using proper language to refer to them, but he no longer felt comfortable referring to them as Mum and Dad. He had lost all feeling of kinship with them during his stay in Sutton.

His mother sighed. “Your Dad,” she sighed, “Your Dad, he's had a bit of an accident.” Her eyes began to well up with tears and her voice became shaky.

“An accident?” Lucien raised an eyebrow in question. “What happened?” His concern was not for his father, rather more a curiosity.

Putting both her hands on Lucien's shoulders, she answered, “He was at the university meeting with the Dean of Students...” her voice trailed off, her gaze became distant. Lucien shook her hands from his shoulders and brought her back to reality. “There was a shooting on campus,” she continued, “He stepped in front of the Dean and was hit. I'm afraid your Dad is dead.” Her tears became a full cry of sorrow, the mournful widow was the part she played.

Numb, Lucien found his way to a settee and sat down. As much as he liked to hate his father for his perceived neglect, the news struck a hole in him. Though he was loathe to admit it, he had looked forward to coming home, being with his family once again, even if only to confront them about not visiting him, about his childhood spent apart from them. “When did it happen,” he asked stiffly.

“A few months after you were admitted to Sutton,” she said, sitting down next to him and trying to wrap an arm around his shoulders. 

He shrugged her off. “Is that why you never visited me?” he accused.

Her heartache shadowed her face. “It is, for the most part. Dr. Gregory advised us to stay away for the first few months to allow you to adjust. When his invitation came, it was just after the accident. I hadn't the heart to go after that. I wanted to see you get better and I felt that telling you the truth, revealing the tragedy, would be a setback.”

“You were wrong,” Lucien growled. “I felt like you forgot about me, neglected me like you did the whole time I was growing up. You. With your fancy parties, your yachts, your cruises, your social lives, while you pawned me off on nannies and cousins. I wasn't your son, I was a status symbol, an heir to the throne. I never wanted the money, I wanted attention. And you wonder why I became such a spoiled, self-serving little brat. At least my incarceration let me see that. All that therapy was not wasted.” He held his hand up, hovering in the air, waiting for the compulsion to slap her, but brought it down and breathed in, calming himself down. His face was stern as he watched her flinch, then relax as his anger subsided.

She stood from the settee, straightened her back, composed herself and said, “I, we, never meant for you to feel that way. You have always been our son, the light of our life, we love you, always have and always will.” With that, she turned on her heels and walked away from him, back into the shadows of the manor.

Lucien was suddenly exhausted. He gathered his belongings and made his way up the wide staircase toward his old room. It had not changed, either, his childhood collections still present on a shelf over his single bed, photographs of friends long left by the wayside, framed on a dresser. He sat down on the bed and kicked his shoes off, then laid down, almost too long to fit on the mattress. He closed his eyes and sighed, weary from the day, and eventually fell into a deep sleep.


	4. Chapter #5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin is released from Sutton Hospital and Lucien attends university, until he learns the true nature of Martin's business dealings.

Lucien watched his mother's every move as she avoided him. Her lips were always thinly drawn, her face a masque of annoyed perfection. She seemed to resent that he had returned, that she had her son, instead of her husband. Day in and day out, their lives stretching out the tedium, mother and son magnetic opposites that, no matter how hard they tried to get close to one another, there was too great a barrier. The silence, the exclusion, all became too much for Lucien to bear. He disliked being treated as a stranger in his own home, even more so because it was his mother and that he tried so hard for her affection. When it became evident that there would be no tearful embraces, no apologies for actions past or even present, that the resentment each felt for the other would be a constant dark cloud over their heads, Lucien made the decision to leave. He had two weeks before the start of classes and his trust fund afforded him enough to get a decent flat close to campus.

He moved on, simply, moved on. Once he was out of the house and on his own, Lucien felt like he became a new man. He was now a man of consequence, one that Martin Goins would be proud to employ. He traded in the comfortable sweaters, jeans and tee shirts that had been his youthful uniform and began wearing tailored button-downs and trousers, with the occasional jacket or sport coat on the cooler days. His confidence grew as well. He had been cautious at first, once classes had begun, almost afraid to talk to others because he had no idea if anyone knew who he was. After the first week, he realized that, not only was he a stranger amongst the masses, but that everyone had started with a clean slate. 

Lucien dug into his studies, but he also became quite popular with the other students, both for his keen intellect as well as for his charm. His magnetism extended to both the male and female students at university. He made friends easily, always helping others when they needed, a quick wit when it was warranted, and an innate likableness that was immediately evident upon meeting him. His new friends had no idea of his past, of the rage that always quietly simmered below the surface that he fought to keep below whenever there was a conflict. Luckily, Dr. Gregory had given him the tools, he just needed to use them. 

While Lucien was in his third semester at university, Martin Goins was released. Martin immediately moved to occupy the extra bedroom in Lucien's flat, claiming that he needed to sell his own estate because of too many unpleasant memories. While that explanation was partly true, the reality was that, had Martin gone back to his own home, he would most likely have been joining his family in the afterlife sooner than later. The two resumed their easy friendship that had begun at Sutton, which led to many late night discussions about Martin's business, colleagues and all. From what Lucien had gathered, Martin was in the import business, buying and selling items shipped to him from the most remote places on the globe. He counted some of the world’s wealthiest among his clients, some of the most prestigious as well. The only thing that concerned Lucien was that Martin seemed so secretive. While he had no compunction about listing the names of his clients, he refused to say what exactly it was that they bought, but it was no more than a fleeting thought dismissed as the discretion of a great businessman. 

While Lucien attended classes, Martin attended his business. He used the rarely-utilized kitchen table as his office, often letting papers get strewn about the room in his dealings. His laptop was set up on a side table, almost always on, along with a small printer. There were several late nights when Martin would stay awake until dawn, retiring to his bed only after Lucien had left for class. Since there were no other roommates to contend with, it was an amiable agreement, albeit a temporary one. 

As Lucien started his second year at university, Martin finally sold his family's estate and purchased a new one. He moved out of the flat, much to Lucien's relief because there had been tension hovering over them like a monstrous cloud. There was no bad blood, they were still thick as thieves, but as Lucien invited classmates and girlfriends to his flat, Martin would often haughtily collect his business and retreat seething into his own room. Normally, such behavior would have been cause for alarm, but, since Lucien was already used to Martin's secrecy, he brushed it off. It was more of an annoyance that he felt guilty for having a social life. 

After Martin was settled in his new estate, he invited Lucien to stay the weekend. Lucien had always envisioned Martin's home as something not quite as grand as he had made it seem, but as his cab approached, he was impressed by the courtyard that contained one of the grandest fountains he had seen. Beyond that, a facade of marble with columns framing a pair of large, oak French doors. There was a bank of windows on either side of the columns, each curtained with rich velvet. Martin opened the door as he heard the cab approach and Lucien peeked through the opening, catching a glance of a huge staircase.  
As he exited the cab, Martin embraced him and patted him on the back. “Hello, my boy,” he greeted, “Welcome to my manor.”

Lucien smiled cordially. “I don't know what I envisioned...” he began. 

Martin laughed heartily. “You never thought I lived like this, did you, boy? Old Martin's got money. I made it all myself. Now, let's find you a room.”

As they made their way up the grand staircase, a glance around revealed more marble and expensive artwork in niches around the foyer. Through a small hallway, there was a reflection of water, presumably from a pool, dancing along the ceiling and illuminating a swath of Turkish carpet. Above them, an enormous stained glass dome, a recreation of a famous Renaissance painting. The room he was boarded in was equally as impressive, a large four-poster bed, plush and with expensive cotton linens and a silk duvet. As Lucien stood in awe, Martin picked up a remote from the bedside table, pushed a button and the Botticelli print on the wall slid out of the way to reveal a big-screen TV. “I'll let you settle in,” Martin told him as he exited the room. “Come down when you're ready.”

Even though he had been brought up with a fair amount of wealth, Martin's manor was more opulent than Lucien could have imagined. He put his things away in the dresser under the window and freshened himself up in the en suite. His own personal shower was also all marble. Whomever had built the manor had spared no expense, and Martin had apparently appreciated this as well.

After he had spent some time relaxing in his room, alone with his thoughts, miles away from school, friends, any worries, Lucien made his way downstairs. He nearly got lost in the maze of hallways, but eventually got his bearings and tracked Martin down to the study on the far end of the house. He knocked tentatively on the door, which was cracked open slightly already. “Are you busy?” he inquired as the door creaked open even more.

Martin was sitting in a large leather desk chair and swiveled around to face Lucien. “Not at all,” he answered. “Would you like to see something?”

Lucien entered the room fully and walked over to where Martin was. “What would you like to show me?” he asked.

There was a small stack of paper on the desk in front of them, and a file with some photos. “I have told you that I am in the import business, correct?”

“Yes, and that you count some of the most well-known people in the world as clients...”

Martin interrupted him. “Seeing as how you are going to be one of my partners, I want to show you what exactly it is that I do.” He lifted a finger up to his mouth, resting it on his lip in a mock-shush and watched Lucien with anticipation.

Lucien reached for the folder and began to flip through the photos. “I see artwork, vases, statuary,” he looked at Martin, puzzled. “It's all imported, why is it so hush hush?”

Martin cracked an ingenious smile. “All those items are just facades. Each and every one of those imported items also smuggled in a pound of heroin.”

“How?” Lucien was both horrified and fascinated. He knew that there had to be some unsavory part to Martin's business, with all the secrecy, the suspicion, but he hadn't imagined that it was like this.

Martin put both his hands palms down on the desk and leaned closer to Lucien. “Nobody wants to piss off the world's elite. Hell, they run it. Because of that, customs overlooks a couple extra pounds in the packing, the dogs don't come sniffing, it's an easy shot.”

Lucien's mind began running a million different directions. “What about the money?”

“The funny thing about that,” laughed Martin, “Nobody bats an eye at it. These rich people will pay out the nose for something they think is rare and exotic. I call it a 'dealer cost' and they are none the wiser.” 

“I don't know what to say,” Lucien sighed. “How can I get involved in something like this?” His reservations were more a matter of preservation. He could imagine getting discovered by authorities and he knew he couldn't handle prison.

“Don't worry, boy,” Martin stood and slapped him on the back, “You wouldn't be on the front lines. Think of yourself as my personal assistant.”

The weekend at the manor progressed without anything further about the business, and Lucien enjoyed being able to unwind. He also enjoyed Martin's company as much as he had during their days at Sutton, but the reality of what Martin had told him was always in the back of his mind along with a niggling doubt. He couldn't help but look at Martin differently and he was almost relieved when it was time to go back to school.

After he returned, Lucien threw himself into his studies, neglecting the connections he had made with his classmates and letting the friendships fall where they would. He maintained a few acquaintances, but became mostly an enigma to the rest. He became a quiet man of mystery, the dashing charmer that preferred to live life in the shadows. Of course, this made him all the more intriguing for the other students, and he was often whispered about after he passed them in the courtyard. He really didn't want to segregate himself, but, given the burden of the information he knew, he saw no other way.

By Lucien's third year, he had attained near-cult status as newer students began their tenure, hearing the stories of him from the students that had already been at university for a few years. He had stopped caring about what was said about him and already had one foot out the door as an assistant to the head of the Business school on campus. As one of the brightest students, he was being groomed for a professorship, however his intentions were more sinister than they could have imagined. His connection to Martin had grown, so much so that the older man had taken Lucien on several trips to procure items for his clients and had even introduced him to some of his business associates.

That year, Lucien had also learned that alcohol could help numb him, make him less susceptible to the inner turmoil that seemed to always wrench his nerves and twist his moods. He would often stop at an off-campus pub and have a few whiskeys before walking home to his flat and retiring for the night. Usually, the drinks were not a problem, however, one night, he happened across a young couple. They were against a building, in the shadows of an alley that reeked of trash and piss. He paid no attention to them, assuming that they were enjoying each other, making out, until he hear the woman yell, “Stop!”

His usual self-preservation dampened by several drinks, Lucien spun on his heels and grabbed the back of the shirt the man was wearing. “Is this man bothering you?” he asked her.  
The man struggled and Lucien pulled him away and threw him down on the ground. “He was trying to rape me,” the woman answered tearfully. 

Her attacker had struggled to his feet and attempted to run away, but Lucien caught him before he got more than a few feet. He grabbed the man's collar once again, nearly cutting off his airway. “Run,” Lucien growled. His eyes were wild and his face furious. She complied and she ran, heels clicking away from them. His attention was returned to the animal in his grasp. He tightened his grip even more and swung the man's head into the side of a dumpster, then backwards into the brick building behind them. By the second blow, the man had gone limp, his hair matted with blood, his eyes glazed over. Lucien continued beating him until he himself was completely exhausted, sliding to the ground next to the crumpled body of the assailant.

Lucien closed his eyes and caught his breath. Panic began to set in as the whiskey began to wear off from his exertion and he realized what exactly he had done. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called Martin, his only lifeline. The line on the other end rang twice and then Martin, groggy from sleep, answered. “'Ello?”

“Martin, I'm in trouble,” Lucien began, “I've just killed someone.” His breath began to catch and he fought down tears of terror, not for the act itself, but of what he was now afraid would happen, and he waited for Martin's response.

“Oh, god, boy,” Martin said, the fog beginning to lift. “Tell me where you are.”

Lucien gave him directions and, within minutes, one of Martin's associates arrived at the scene. Lucien was still on the phone with him when the man arrived and verified his identity. He watched as the man opened the trunk of the car, pulled out a roll of trash bags, duct tape, and a couple gallons of ammonia. Within minutes, the assailant's body was bound and wrapped and shoved into the trunk of the car and the ammonia was poured wherever there had been blood, washing it into the storm drain. “Get in the car with him, boy,” Martin instructed, “Looks like you're joining the family business early.”


	5. Chapter #5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien learns of his fate within the organization.

Lucien remained silent as the man drove, letting the drunk haze settle, recounting what he could remember of the evening's events. For the first time in his life, he was genuinely scared. He nervously tapped his fingers on the center console, beats to the song he had last heard on the PA system in the pub. “Oy, would you quit?” 

The driver's annoyed voice snapped Lucien out of his daze. “Sorry,” he smiled, “Just a nervous habit.”

The man nodded. “You'd best rid yourself of that habit,” he said gruffly, “Not many people in this business are as nice as I am. They'd just as soon chop off those fingers. M'name's Andre, otherwise known as 'The Cleaner.'” 

“Lucien Darke.” He peered more closely at Andre, taking stock of the man. He was sharp-looking, with a piercing gaze. He was older, enough to have lost his hair and resorting to shave it, but his face was smooth, save for the slight laugh lines around his eyes. 

“I know who you are,” Andre responded, “Martin filled me in on the way here. He says you are a bright man with a great future.”

Lucien sighed, “I did a stupid thing tonight.”

“Don't sweat it, we all have done something dumb in our lifetimes. Everyone makes mistakes. It's my job to help clean them up.” He turned his attention from the road and winked at Lucien for a moment.

Lucien relaxed and let out a deep breath, unaware until that moment how much he had been holding it in. His gaze turned to the passing scenery, the city lights as they passed over the bridge, the buildings as they faded into the countryside. The car raced along, putting more and more distance between them and the scene of the crime until they reached a heavily wooded area. Andre turned right onto a long-unused dirt road, plunging the car into the murky darkness. After a few twists and turns, he parked the car and turned off the headlights. “Let's do this,” he said darkly.

“What are we going to do, chop him into little pieces and feed him to the wolves?” Lucien joked.

Andre shot him a reproving glance. “There's a peat bog here,” he answered, “It's not as messy, less for the authorities to discover.”

They got out of the car and made their way to the trunk. Andre popped it open, reached in and grabbed one end of the bundle. Lucien grabbed the other and as he pulled it out of the car, flinched. The body had long since grown cold and he could feel the squish of where he had beat the man. It was unlike anything he had ever felt and it gave him a cold, sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He retched, the sting of bile filling his throat. Choking it down, he coughed back tears and cleared what remained from his mouth by spitting to the side of the car.

“Is this your first?” asked Andre.

“First what?” Lucien managed to whisper.

“Dead body.”

Lucien nodded. “It's a bit different than I would have imagined.”

Andre laughed quietly. “You'll get used to it. You at least had the advantage of kicking the shit out of this man when he was alive for being a bastard. I've seen worse.” He didn't elaborate, but lifted his end of the body from the trunk and pulled Lucien along a short path. When they reached the bog, Andre nodded and they swung the body, it hitting the water with a splash, and then slowly sinking below with a thick bubbly sound. They wiped their sweaty hands off on large fern fronds as they retreated to the car. 

Once back in the vehicle, Lucien's curiosity got the best of him. “What did you mean you'd seen worse?” he asked.

Andre turned the car on, began backing it up and turning it around, expertly avoiding any of the trees that were around them. “There's more bodies I've dumped in that swamp than I can count on both my hands,” he explained. “You've not seen carnage until you've had to clean up a room full of drug dealers that have had a disagreement with someone more powerful than themselves. There's also the matter of people who have stumbled into the wrong places at the wrong time. There are no witnesses. But that doesn't hold a candle to the people who have turned informant and found out. They get it the worst. I've seen a man's tongue cut out, his belly sliced and seen him hung from his shower by his own guts.”

The description made Lucien squirm visibly in his seat. “That is awful,” he answered. “Remind me to stay on Martin's good side.”

Andre laughed. “From what I hear, you're quite the Golden Child. Martin only says wonderful things about you and I have no doubt that he is underplaying it. You seem to have a good head on your shoulders. Most people in your situation would have panicked and called the police. You called Martin and that is a huge testament to your character.”

Lucien smiled, “I would hope so.” He leaned his head back against the set and closed his eyes, listening to the rumble of the tires on the road as they returned to the city. 

The rest of the ride was spent in silence and it seemed almost no time until they pulled into the drive at Martin's estate. As Andre shut the car off, Martin emerged, still in the gray three-piece suit he was wearing when they had left him in the alley. He approached Andre first, holding the door open as the older man got out, and embracing him with a manly slap on the back. Then Martin made his way to Lucien, same hug, same slap on the back. “Gentlemen,” he greeted, smiling broadly, “We have business to discuss.” 

Lucien and Andre followed him into the house, through the palatial foyer and towards the left into a huge dining room. The table was set for dinner, even though it was now late at night. There was a woman in a maid's uniform standing in the corner, waiting for instructions, Lucien guessed. Martin motioned for them to sit down as he sat. Lucien chose the seat to the right of Martin, Andre to the left. They both leaned towards Martin and folded their hands on the table. 

Martin summoned the servant to him, whispered something in her ear and she left the room, only to return a few seconds later bearing a large tray, which she set down in front of him. Upon removing the cover, the tray was revealed to have an assortment of meats, cheeses, crackers and small pieces of bread. “I know it's late, but I thought you might be famished. This was the best that could be mustered up at this hour,” Martin explained. He gestured towards the food with his hand, inviting Lucien and Andre to take some of the food. They obliged, each taking the plate in front of himself and stacking an assortment from the tray on it. When their plates were filled, they sat back and began feasting. The maid had re-emerged from the kitchen carrying a bottle of whiskey and she filled all of the glasses in front of them to the brim.

Smiling, Martin enjoyed the scene in front of him. His hungry minions, eating up whatever sustenance he provided. “I'm sure you are wondering what business I was talking about,” he observed.

Both Lucien and Andre stopped mid-chew and turned their attention to Martin. “Tonight's little folly is not something I expected from you,” Martin continued, pointing an accusatory finger at Lucien. “I had never pegged you for violence, least of all the ability to kill a man in cold blood.”

Lucien swallowed his food. “I'm sorry,” was all he could cough out.

“By all means, I am not disappointed. I had thought you would work for me on the business side of things, helping me with the books, legitimizing my dealings, but I see that you will be far more useful than I had anticipated.” He smiled again, focusing his attention on Andre. “I would like you to take our young friend under your wing. He has a lot of untapped anger. I would like to tap it. I believe that, under the correct tutelage, Mr. Darke will make one hell of an assassin.”

Lucien's eyes widened. “I can't do that!” he protested. “I don't know if I could stomach it.” 

“Tsk,” Martin clicked his tongue, “My dear boy, the fact that you single-handedly put the kibosh on that man's life tonight and still kept enough of a level head about it tells me that you can. You were face to face with him. He was the bad guy. Your targets will be as well. Mostly, people who are threats to our organization and our ways of life, and you won't even have to face them. Andre is a talented sharpshooter and he will train you to be as well.”

“If you think so,” he sighed, leaning back, pushing his plate away, no longer hungry. “When do we begin?”

Andre finished drinking his whiskey, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and responded, “At first light.”


	6. Chapter #6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien begins to learn a new trade.

Lucien slept fitfully, managing only a few moments of solace in between tossing, turning and his mind racing. He relived the evenings events over and over, panic overtaking him momentarily when he thought about the possibility he would have been caught; there was, after all, a witness. The woman he had saved had run away into the night and he wondered what had become of her. Martin didn't seem to be the kind of man who left loose ends and he had stayed behind when Lucien and Andre had gone to dispose of the body. Had Martin paid her off? Perhaps she had been classified as collateral damage, disposed of by someone already adept at what he was destined now to learn. 

Shortly after dawn, Andre knocked on Lucien's door. “Rise and shine,” he growled obviously thrilled to be awake at this hour, himself. “Martin is waiting for us in his office.” He slammed the door shut.

Looking at his cell phone for the time, Lucien groaned. 5:15. He'd had about 4 hours of sleep, if he could call it that. He sat up on the bed, pulled on the rumpled trousers that he had worn the day before, ran his fingers through his hair, and stretched. He yawned as he stood up and made his way out of the room, shirtless and barefoot. During his brief stays in Martin's estate, he had become accustomed to the layout of the house, it no longer proving a labyrinth for him, and he made his way easily to Martin's study.

Both Martin and Andre turned to face Lucien as he entered. “Good God, man,” exclaimed Martin, “You need to look respectable. Where's your shirt?”

“Bloodstained,” answered Lucien. “I figured this was better.”

Andre shook his head. “First rule, always be ready for anything. If that means you need to bring extra clothing, then bring extra clothing.”

Martin chuckled, “I took the liberty of gathering some things from your flat while you were gone. You would have found them hanging in the wardrobe in your room, had you looked.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow at him, then remembered that Martin still had a key to his flat, in case of emergencies. “I guess I will head up and change, then,” he shrugged. Taking a key from Andre, he guessed that he should dress casually and comfortably for the day's lessons. “T-shirt and jeans alright?” he asked.

“Dark clothing,” Andre answered as Lucien headed back to his room.

As he headed back upstairs, Lucien's thoughts began to race once again. He wondered what Martin and Andre had been discussing before he entered the room. There had only been a small phrase or word he caught, nothing incriminating. His suspicions were aroused, though. He felt like he needed to be more careful. He trusted Martin implicitly, but had only known Andre for a few hours. Yet, Martin seemed to trust Andre, maybe even more than he trusted Lucien. The seed of doubt had been planted, though.

Lucien slipped out of the trousers and into a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt. He pulled on a pair of black Converse and went back downstairs. “Better?” he asked as he opened the door to the study again.

Andre gave him the once-over. “It passes muster,” he answered sternly, then broke the tension with a big smile.

Sighing in relief, Lucien helped himself to a handful of grapes that were sitting on Martin's bar. “So, Martin,” he wondered, his mouth full, “What happened to the girl?”

“She won't bother us,” Martin answered grimly.

Lucien swallowed his grapes. “Did you have her killed?” He wasn't concerned, more curious.

Martin shook his head. “What kind of a man do you think I am, boy? She was an innocent. I paid her off. She is now set for life, provided she keeps her silence about what happened last night.”

“Okay, I was just wondering.”

Andre walked to a cabinet in the corner that Lucien hadn't noticed before, a gun safe. He unlocked it and pulled two long-range rifles from it. “Now you're going to get to know your tools,” he announced, handing one to Lucien. 

Lucien grasped the stock of the gun, it's barrel slender, but shorter than he would imagine that it would have been. He raised it up, looked at the sight, used it to pick out a bench in the distance of Martin's yard. “Do I get a laser guide?” he asked.

“Too conspicuous,” Andre answered. “You have to live by your wits. People see that little red dot on their chest, or a friend sees it on someone's head, it's an indication you are there and their death is imminent. We are not rattlesnakes, we're vipers. There is no warning.

“Now, this is a serious piece of machinery. She'll fit easily in a duffel bag, in a guitar case, even down your pant leg, should you need to go that far. This here is a Sig Sauer Precision Marksman, my weapon of choice as it so happens. You may grow to have your own favored tools of the trade, but I prefer this.” He caressed it, kissed the barrel and nodded at Lucien. “Now, let's go learn some target shooting.” He led Lucien outside, along a short path that was nearly hidden by the shrubbery in the back yard. They soon found themselves in a large field with hay bales and bulls-eyes set up on top of them. It looked like a place they would go to practice archery.

Lucien had expected a trip to a gun range, but he had not expected that he would be leaning to shoot in Martin's own back yard. “What happens if we're caught?” he asked.

Andre pulled two silencers from the backpack he wore. “We'll use these,” he answered, “And we shouldn't have to worry about errant bullets unless you fire in the wrong direction. There's nothing beyond that brush besides Martin's own private forest. He affixed a silencer on the barrel of his gun, then held his hand out for Lucien to hand him his. 

“Have you ever shot a gun before?” Andre asked.

Lucien shook his head. “I've never had the opportunity to.”

Andre rolled his eyes and sighed. He began the lesson by showing Lucien how to correctly take the gun apart and reassemble it. It was a fairly smooth lesson, Lucien proving an adept student with a keen eye for detail. 

The next lesson was sighting. Andre demonstrated how to hold the weapon and get the target in sight using his own gun, shooting a hole straight through the target, dead center. Lucien hoisted his up, using his shoulder just as Andre had done to steady it. Finger on the trigger, he aligned the sight with the bulls-eye on the other target. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the trigger. In an instant, he felt the gun buck back slightly as the bullet left the chamber and zipped into the target, slightly to the left. Lucien pulled the gun off his shoulder and, red-faced, felt like throwing it to the ground. Imperfection was not in his nature. Instead, he leaned down and placed it gingerly at his feet and, burying the anger, took a deep breath.

“Not bad,” Andre said, appearing at his side. “You're just slightly to the left. If that was a real person, you would have only maimed him and would most likely not have had a chance for a second shot. This means you need to aim more to our right. You didn't account for the kickback.” He reached down and picked up Lucien's gun and hand edit back. “Now try again.”

Lucien's second attempt was much more successful, hitting the center of the target directly. The kill shot. Proudly, Lucien smiled. He shot again, and then a third time, aimed at Andre's target. He suddenly felt powerful, more so than he had ever felt. There was no stopping him as the thrill of it all surged through his body. “I can see why you enjoy this,” he said, an evil grin curling the corners of his mouth.

“It's a hell of a lot of responsibility,” Andre growled, annoyed with Lucien's sudden attitude shift. To him, Lucien no longer seemed the intimidated university student. He was now an arrogant killer. “Don't let the power of this go to your head,” he warned.

Shrugging, Lucien pulled the gun down from his shoulder. “When do I start?” he asked, beginning the trek back to the house.

Andre grabbed him by the shoulder. “Whoa, you don't start on your own until you've proven yourself in the field. That means a minimum of a year shadowing me. I need to see what you're made of.”

Hoisting the gun back up to his shoulder, Lucien aimed the barrel at Andre's temple. “This should tell you everything you know,” he said menacingly. “I could pull this trigger and blow your head clean off. I'm sure that would impress some people.”

Andre batted the gun away. “Don't ever joke about that, boy,” he roared, “If I thought you were serious about that threat, you would have been dead before that gun even got close to me. There's a reason I am the top assassin in the organization.”

“What would that reason be?” Lucien was enjoying taunting him. It was like sticking his head in the proverbial lion's mouth. He lowered his weapon again and began to speed ahead of Andre, running along the path. There was a rustle ahead of him and Andre appeared in front of him, materializing from the brush. Lucien stopped. “How?”

“You never thought there would be an alternate route,” Andre smiled smugly. “And that is why I'm the best.” He patted Lucien on the back and the two hastened towards the manor, once again friends and thick as thieves.

Martin greeted them at the back patio. “How did it go?” he asked, directing the question at Andre.

Andre chuckled. “The kid's got an eye on him, a real crack-shot.” He nodded towards Lucien. “He needs some experience in the field, a little work on that temper as well.”

“I'm sure that will come with time,” Martin smiled, “As for field work, I have an opportunity for you tonight, if you’re interested. It's a black tie affair at the Russian Consulate. Of course, I will be there, along with some of our esteemed colleagues.”

Lucien's eyes sparkled. “Anything,” he answered. What had begun with apprehension now thrilled him at the prospect. He imagined stealthily taking out his target, no one at the party the wiser. Real cloak and dagger. “I'm game.”

Andre held his hand up. “Hold on, there,” he cautioned Lucien. “Martin, what are the specifics of the job?”

“Our organization will be well-represented,” Marin chuckled, then in a more serious tone said, “Cam Marshall is getting cold feet. He will be there as well, being a good friend of Vladimir Korsikov, the Russian Ambassador. Mr. Marshall is planning on revealing some of our secrets to the Ambassador tonight, information I came by by way of his assistant. Your job is to take out Marshall before he can get a moment alone with the Ambassador If you can't take out Marshall before, you will also have to take out Mr. Korsikov.” 

“Are we close range or sniper?” Andre's face began to tighten into a frown.

Martin pressed the tips of his fingers together and brought them to his lips. He glanced at Lucien, who looked like he was waiting with baited breath. “I think tonight will need to be close range. You will need to blend into the crowd. I have some tuxes that may fit you both here, so there is no need to return home.”

The men returned to their rooms to prepare for the evening. Lucien needed time to process. The night before had been an accident, the result of mixing liquor with his violent temper. It was a mess. Tonight would be planned, timed to perfection, and something he hoped wouldn’t be nearly as bloody. He undressed, glad to be out of the casual clothes and actually glad that he would be sporting something much more stylish for the evening. Turning on the water, he stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash all his worries away. He lathered up, using the bottle of body wash that had been left for him there, soaped up his hair and stared at the drain as the bubbles washed away. 

As he stood there, he heard a knock on the door. “Mr. Darke?” the servant called out, “I have your suit and I am placing it on the bed for you.”

“Alright,” he yelled over the shower noise, “Thank you!”

He turned the water off and reached for the towel that was hanging on the bar on the wall. He patted himself dry and then wrapped it around his waist, tucking the end in as he sauntered back into the room. The air was much cooler, and he shivered. Had he been any other man, he might have seen that as a foreboding omen, a sign of something bad soon happening. Those who believed old wives tales would say that a chill like that signified that someone was walking over your grave, but Lucien was not superstitious. Instead, he finished drying himself off, anointed himself with the requisite toiletries and suited up.

The tux was a near-perfect fit. He knew that it wasn't quite as right had it been tailored for him, but the overall effect was quite nice. He admired himself in the room's full-length mirror, loving the way the fabric draped over his lithe frame, thinking to himself that he needed to remember to ask Martin where he could procure himself a similar quality tuxedo that would fit him even more like a glove. Tonight was a debut performance and he felt like he was preparing to go on stage. “You look smashing, old boy,” he smiled to his reflection as he turned the light out and left the room.

By the time Lucien made his way downstairs, both Martin and Andre were waiting. “What took you so long?” Andre asked.

Lucien shrugged. “I figured I should look my best. It wouldn't be right to attend something like this and look like a scrub.”

Martin nodded, “That is true, but now we must hurry. Our chariot awaits, gentlemen.” He ushered them out the front door to the black limousine that was parked in the drive.


	7. Chapter #7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien completes his first assignment

The soiree was a little under an hour's drive from Martin's estate and the men made the most of that time by strategically planning. Martin had brought along a dossier that included photographs and biographies on the intended target. He handed it to Lucien to study. “I want you to pay close attention to who this man speaks with, his body language, anything that could indicate suspicion,” he said, “He knows me, so I will remain on the peripherals. I will be relying on you to be my eyes and ears.” Martin handed both Lucien and Andre tiny in-ear communication devices. He showed Lucien how to turn his on and fit it in his ear. “Our target tonight is codenamed 'Blackbird.' Don't forget that.”

Lucien nodded while trying to adjust his device. “Martin,” he sighed, “Do you really think I'm ready for this? I mean, the only time I've killed a man, I was drunk.” He furrowed his eyebrows and leaned his chin on his hand.

“Relax, Luc, Andre will be the primary on this one, you only need to observe and distract.”

Taking a deep breath, Lucien leaned back into his seat and studied the file in his lap. The text on the front supposedly telling him all he needed to know about their victim:  
“Name: Cameron James Marshall  
Age: 38  
Marital Status: Married to Juliet Anne Dumont Marshall, age 24  
Children: 1 – Cameron James Marshall Jr.”

Loving them young and spreading the family name, eh, Cam, Lucien thought. He skimmed past Cam Marshall's employment history, his hobbies, professional and social clubs, preferring to flip to the photographs instead. Cam Marshall was not handsome, but he was not an ugly man, either. His features were rather plain, ruddy skin, thin lips, nose devoid of any special characteristics. His hair was dark brown, flecked with gray and receding, leaving him with a rather large forehead. In the photos of him smiling, Lucien noticed a crooked front tooth and another one chipped, probably from Cam's days as a boxer. He was also slightly muscular, but the bulge in his midriff indicated that the muscles on his arms were the only ones that had any sense of tone and that he had let himself go to the middle-age spread already. There was also a photograph of Cam and his wife Juliet. She was gorgeous, her smiling visage looking up from the flat page stirred something in Lucien. Her dark hair flowed to the middle of her back, raven black and straight like ribbon. She was smiling in this one, her heart-shaped face pierced by two deep dimples, decorated by high, blushing cheekbones, plump red lips, and her eyes a sea of sapphire that nearly jumped off the photograph. Where Cam's hand wrapped around her, she had a tapered waist. She was in a black t-shirt and tight-fitting jeans, which simultaneously flattered her figure and hid it in the most intriguing way possible. Lucien found himself hoping that she would be there, that he would get a chance to meet the gorgeous creature he was seeing, forgetting that part of his job was to assist in the assassination of her husband.

He leaned his head back and absently watched scenery out the window, while listening to Martin and Andre discuss strategies. Their plan more or less involved the use of injection, a straight shot of potassium chloride that would stop Cam Marshall's heart in an instant, making it look like he had suffered a fatal heart attack. Of course, Martin was well-prepared, having brought along a small, silver cigarette case in which he concealed the syringe filled with the offending liquid. Andre would be able to pull the syringe out and inject without being noticed, while Lucien was a point of distraction, however, should their plans not proceed as this, Lucien was also armed with his own cigarette case. There were other fail-safes, things that Martin had set in motion prior to informing the men of the job, but Andre knew better than to ask and Lucien had no idea.

Their arrival at the party was no less than the spectacular event Lucien had envisioned. He had imagined the balls that his parents had attended, all the black-tie parties, but he had never been a part of them, and now here he was, guest of the Russian Ambassador, in service to what was arguably one of the most influential group of men on the planet. The limo door was opened and they exited, Martin first, followed by Andre, and at last Lucien. There was a blue carpet laid out, stretching from the Valet station to the wide front doors of the Ambassador's mansion where they could already see people gathered dressed in their finest attire. Floodlights saturated the entire circular drive in a bright, white light, making Lucien almost feel like a movie star might feel. As they made their way up the stone staircase, the lights from inside leaked out, shining bright orbs of red, blue, yellow on their tuxes and the thump of dance music caused Lucien's heart to beat even harder keeping up with the rhythm. He made a quick scan around the room, noticing that there weren't as many people as he had thought would be there and then realizing that they were not arriving fashionably late, as more of the guests soon began pouring in.

Martin was observing the room as well. “No sign,yet,” he said, turning towards Andre and Lucien. “Andre, I believe you have some introductions to make to our young friend here.”

Nodding, Andre motioned for Lucien to follow, while Martin proceeded in the opposite direction. “It looks like Cam is not here yet, so we've at least saved the Ambassador,” he said. “I'm going to introduce you to a few of our business associates.”

Lucien followed, smiling, nodding cordially and shaking the hands of more people than he could count, engaging in small talk and charming as many of them as possible. Most of them were lesser-known celebrities, people whose bank accounts far out-shined their talents, some were trust-fund kids, like himself, and there were a handful of self-made millionaires, entrepreneurs who had come up with that one crazy idea before anyone else did and made bucketfuls of money off it. Before long, they had worked their way around the room and were back near the front door.

The Russian Ambassador had ventured downstairs to begin his hosting duties and he was there as well, shaking the hands of anyone and everyone that entered with an enthusiastic, yet thickly accented, “Thank you for coming!” He turned to see Andre and Lucien at his elbow.

“Mr. Korsikov,” Andre began, “I would like to introduce you to our newest colleague, Mr. Lucien Darke.” He bowed away as the Ambassador took hold of Lucien's hand and began pumping it fervently.

Lucien was slightly alarmed by his fervid greeting and, with eyes wide, managed to say, “It's a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Ah, yes!” Vladimir smiled broadly, “Young blood. Such young blood!” His palms were sweating and when he finally released Lucien's hand, Lucien needed to stealthily wipe his hand on his pant leg. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucien spied Cam Marshall and his wife as they climbed out of a limousine. He elbowed Andre and nodded towards the valet station where they were adjusting their clothing. Cam Marshall looked like what Lucien expected and was dressed in the requisite tuxedo and black straight tie. His hair was shorn shorter than the photo, nearly shaved on the sides and brushed up into a bouffant. Juliet Marshall was even more the vision than in the photographs. Her jet black hair was swept up into a chignon on the back of her head, with small curled tendrils framing her face. The dark eyes that had been so riveting to Lucien were rimmed with kohl and winged on the outside corners. Her cheekbones still held that dewy blush against her creamy skin, and those full lips that had been smiling in the photo were drawn into a concentrated pout. Lucien scanned down her slender arm, her figure now accented by the teal sheath dress, her breasts pert and straining against the fabric and then tapering down to a delicate waist and then finally to her full hips that swayed as she shifted her weight nervously. Lucien attempted to stare at the people past her in the crowd, feeling a stir in his loins as she tipped her head up and looked straight at him. He looked away abruptly, acting as though Andre had said something to take his attention. 

By the time Lucien looked back, the couple had moved on, swirling into the bowels of the party, absorbed into the crowd. “Keep an eye on them and introduce yourself,” Andre whispered, nudging an elbow into Lucien's ribs. He had planned on using Lucien as a marker, using his height to its full advantage. Lucien nodded and delved into the party, scoping out not Cam Marshall, but Juliet. He was fervent in his intent, scanning amongst the people for that teal dress, following each flash of color up to an unexpected face until finally, he found her. She was standing next to her husband, Cam's arm protectively around her waist, guarding her from the leering eyes of other men, staking his claim. Her foot tapped out of boredom as Cam spoke to the group that was gathered around, and her eyes glanced around, desperately trying to pick out a familiar face. 

Lucien approached them from behind and sidled to the left, taking a spot next to Juliet. Thankfully, one of the men that was listening to Cam was someone he had been previously introduced to. “Excuse me, Howard, is it?” he asked, interrupting the diatribe and capturing everyone's attention. “You had said something when I met you earlier and I wanted to ask you a question.”

The man he was addressing, Howard Ellis, was the CEO of Ellis Manufacturing LLC, a corporation that was the sole provider of the shipping containers that Martin's company used exclusively. He stepped forward. “Lucien!” he said, stretching his hands out, “Let me introduce you to one of my colleagues. Cam Marshall, this is Lucien Darke, one of Martin's new men.”

Cam turn ed to face Lucien, pulling Juliet to the side so he could see him better. He offered his free hand and shook Lucien's. “Wonderful to meet you, son,” he smiled. “May I also introduce my wife, Juliet.”

When Cam let go of Lucien's hand, Juliet offered hers and Lucien gently took it, lightly kissing the back of it. “A pleasure,” she purred, her French accent rolling off her tongue like honey.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Lucien winked, hoping Cam didn't see. He dropped her hand before he wanted to, but not soon enough for etiquette's sake. He wished he could have lingered longer, but in order to keep up the ruse, he needed to get Howard away from the group. He glanced at Howard and,” pulled him aside. “Now, about that question?”

Howard guffawed, “Did you really have a question, or were you just looking for an introduction?” His green eyes twinkled and laugh lines wrinkled as he laughed.

Guiltily, Lucien shrugged. “It was the introduction,” he admitted. “Especially to that beautiful woman. However did Cam Marshall land a lady of that caliber?”

“He bought her, hook, line and sinker.” Howard went on to recount how Cam Marshall had visited one of France's premiere wineries and had fallen in love with the owner's daughter, Juliet. She had refused his advances as she was already engaged to the son of a fellow winemaker, both fathers had hoped the union would unite them and solidify their influence in the world of fine wines. Cam had other ideas. He had contracted someone to do away with the fiancee and had then paid Juliet's father twice the amount the other winery had been worth, enough that he bought it outright from the poor boy's distraught father. It was a rotten thing to do and because of it, Juliet had no choice but to agree to marry him. His son wasn't even hers, he was begotten by an illicit affair with one of Cam's own assistants, whom he had then disposed of after she she had given birth. Rumor had it that poor Juliet suffered more abuse at the hands of her husband than some women experience in an entire lifetime. The scars never showed, but it accounted for the sad, faraway look she often had. “It really is a pity, she is such a lovely woman.”

Rage began to build in Lucien, tinging his sight with red. He began to wish he could have a drink, something to take the edge off, but knew he couldn't. Martin wouldn't allow it. He huffed, “A man like that doesn't deserve a woman like that,” then, “Thank you, Howard,” Lucien continued, “I shall keep that in mind.”

Howard nodded and moved along, blending back in with the party seamlessly, leaving Lucien against the wall, watching the target. Lucien kept an eagle eye on Cam Marshall, slinking along the peripherals whenever the man moved, always a stone's throw from any conversation, until his earpiece blared, “Luc, where are you?” 

He tapped his own earpiece and answered, “I'm on it... just by the wall.”

“Damn, man, you need to get in there. Andre will be looking for you. Keep him on your right.”

Lucien delved in towards Cam and Juliet. In their revolutions around the party, she had switched sides, now crooked in Cam's right arm. “Perfect,” thought Lucien as he moved in, emerging at Cam's left arm. 

“Some party, isn't it?” he asked in general, “I must admit, this is the first party of this caliber that I've been to.”

Cam seemed annoyed that Lucien had interrupted him, again, but Juliet responded, smiling at him, “It is splendid. They've spared no expense.” Her eyes riveted Lucien to where he stood. “Lucien,” she addressed, “How did you come to be acquainted with Howard?”

“I am employed by Martin Goins as an assistant, now, hired right out of Business School,” he answered, “They had wanted me to go on to a professorship but employment in the private sector is so much more exciting, and it pays more.” He winked at her and made her blush.

Cam bristled at the mention of Martin's name and began to fidget. “We should mingle more, darling,” he said to Juliet, trying to pull her along. 

She resisted, choosing to pull away and stand on the other side of Lucien. “I am having a conversation, Darling,” she spat, enunciating “Darling” like it was a profanity.

“Very well,” Cam growled, “But I am leaving.” He tried to elbow his way through the wall of men in tuxes that stood behind him. 

Andre was among the crowd and as a gap large enough for Cam to fit through, he struck, needle poking the man in the arm, the plunger pushed fully down within seconds. The man fell through the crowd, stumbling and hitting his elbows on the hard marble floor. Andre helped him up, walking him back to where Lucien was standing with Juliet. “I think he need some help, you should come with me,” he said, then motioned to Lucien. “Have you got a cigarette?”

Lucien nodded, morosely following the entourage as they helped Cam to the study. He saw Andre open the second case, pull out the second syringe as well as a cigarette. He lit the cig and deftly hid the needle between his middle finger and index finger. As he pretended to steady the man, he plunged the second needle into his armpit, dosing him for a second time. He nodded at Lucien and, together, they helped Cam into an overstuffed chair. “Are you alright, man?” Andre asked him.

Cam nodded, “Just a bit off. I think I need to lay off the bubbly a bit.” His eyes seemed to be swimming in his skull, looking around unfocused and glazed. He was sweating and shaking like an addict in withdrawal.

“Cam,” Andre began, “Have you been sampling the goods?” He was suddenly suspicious of the sudden onset of symptoms, thinking that the injection could have had a chemical reaction with something already in the man's blood.

Cam smiled. “Who doesn't?” 

It suddenly became crystal clear. The reason that Cam Marshall was targeted had nothing to do with company secrets, blackmail or espionage, but it had everything to do with his own inability to do business without taking some of the drugs for himself. “Oh, Cam, you stupid bastard,” Lucien whispered under his breath. 

He glanced over at Juliet, watching as she held her husband's hand, face drawn, cheeks wet with tears, some concern flecking her eyes, but he wasn't sure if it was concern for Cam or concern for herself. She looked up, first at Andre as he used his cell phone to call an ambulance, then settling on Lucien as he paced the floor, eyebrows in a scowl and fist up against his lip as though he was thinking as he watched her. 

She stood up, dropping her husband's hand into his lap and approached Lucien. He stopped mid-pace. “My husband is not a good man,” she said under her breath, teeth gritted, “He lies, cheats, steals and I think he has even killed people before. If he were to die, the world would be better for it.” 

Lucien raised his eyebrows. “Surely, you can't mean that,” he whispered. “You're his wife.”

Her face turned red and she could feel it getting hot. “I'm his concubine,” she stomped. “Cam bought me, paid my father off so he could marry me. My marriage is an arranged marriage no less than those you hear about in third-world countries. The truth of the matter is that, were I to divorce him, he would kill me. I can't leave, but I don't want to stay.” Her eyes were now rimmed red, tears crowding the corners, threatening to spill. She leaned her head on Lucien's shoulder and sobbed quietly, “Please, let him die.” Her hand reached up and curled into a ball around his lapel, pulling him to her, even though he resisted.

The Ambassador peeked into the library. “Is everything alright?” he asked, his concern evident on his face and in his eyes.

Andre tucked his cell phone into his jacket pocket and announced, “They will be here in three minutes.” He nodded to the Ambassador. “Mr. Korsikov, you should get back to the other guests.” Korsikov nodded and exited the room. 

Turning to face Lucien and upon seeing Juliet clinging to him, shook his head. “You should probably get her out of here. She'll be no help to anyone like that.”

Juliet immediately let go of Lucien and flew at Andre. “No!” she wailed, grabbing both hands full of his jacket and trying to shake him. “I need to know what happens to him!” She stared up at him, wild-eyed and shaking.

Lucien sidled over to them and leaned close to Andre's ear. “She wants him dead,” he mumbled stealthily, and watched as an evil smile curled Andre's lips. 

“We can use that to our advantage,” Andre whispered back. 

Lucien backed up, crossed his arms and stared Andre down. “Are you suggesting what I think you are suggesting?” Andre nodded and Lucien smoldered, his eyes piercing Juliet as sure as a knife. She shifted nervously, letting go of Andre and biting her lip, her eyes wide. “We can't do that, Andre. She's innocent.”

Exasperated, Andre stomped over to Lucien, grabbed him by the arm, and pulled him to the corner. In a low voice, he growled, “If we let them believe she killed her husband, there will be no investigation. Potassium Chloride is not a flawless way to kill someone. They look for needle marks.”

Lucien shook his head. “No,” he said, “We can't... I can't.” He pulled his arm out of Andre's grasp. “I'm not completely heartless.”

“Luc,” Andre protested, “We are trained killers. We can't let 'attachments',” he spat the word out like a rotten piece of fruit, “get in the way.” He was beginning to doubt Lucien's ability to do the job when it was required. “If you can't do it now, will you be able to do it in the future? How do I know I will be able to trust you when my ass is on the line?” 

Clasping his hand atop Andre's shoulder, Lucien looked at him earnestly, “ You can.”

“Juliet,” Cam began to moan, his head lolling to the side. “Juliet, you bitch.” His expression had morphed into one of pure evil, twisted in pain and anger. He reached out to her, trying to grasp her dress, missing when she backed away. “Juliet, come here, now!”

Cowed and scared, she jumped at the command. “No, Cam, I won't,” she said, her voice nearly inaudible. She looked out the window at the sound of sirens approaching. Tearfully, she faced him, “You have made my life miserable since the day we met. No more.” 

Cam's face contorted, his hands flew up and grasped his chest, his breathing became labored as he grunted in pain. “Juliet,” he gasped one last time before taking a final breath and expiring suddenly motionless on the chair.

Juliet sighed, “It's over,” just as the paramedics arrived. “It's over, he's dead,” she said, her tone more one of relief than sorrow. 

“Are you alright, Ma'am?” the paramedic asked, checking Cam's pulse. He nodded at his partner, “I can't resuscitate him.” His eyes flicked back to Juliet, “I'm so sorry.” 

She covered her mouth, halfway between a cry and a laugh, seemingly hysterical. “He had a heart attack,” she managed to say.

The paramedics radioed in and began preparing Cam's body for transport to the morgue. One of them retrieved a stretcher and a body bag and as they zipped him inside and began wheeling away asked Juliet if she wanted to come with them. Silently, she shook her head, chewing nervously on her thumbnail and watched the body of her husband exit her life one last time.

Lucien approached her. “What will you do now?” he asked.

She glanced wistfully at him. “I don't know, but now I'm free,” she smiled.

He resisted the urge to gather her in his arms again, to kiss the tears away. It was a sensation he was not accustomed to. Instead, he chose to simply grasp her hand and say, “I wish we could have met other other circumstances.” 

Andre tapped Lucien on the shoulder. “We should be going,” he said, nodding at Juliet. Lucien let go of her hand, bowed slightly at her and exited the room with Andre. “She will be fine,” he said as Lucien glanced back at her.


	8. Chapter 8

Lucien awoke to Martin's beckoning under the guise of darkness. “Luc,” he summoned softly through the door while gently rapping on it with a single knuckle, “I need to speak with you.” 

Bleary-eyed and still shaken by the day's proceedings, Lucien pulled himself reluctantly from the bed and shuffled his way in the dark to the door, pulling it open with minimal effort to face Martin's haggard visage. “What?” he asked sleepily.

“Follow me.” Martin lead him downstairs to the study, opening the door and revealing the weeping form of Juliet huddled on the settee. “This is your doing,” Martin grumbled, waving a dismissing hand toward the woman

Confused, Lucien went to her side and sat down, putting his arm around her. “Juliet?” he whispered, half stunned. “What are you doing here?”

Juliet lifter her head from its position on her arm and turned toward him. Her face was swollen, bruised and bloodied, her eyes red from tears, her beautiful skin abraded, and her throat had hand prints as though she had been nearly strangled to death. She was still clothed in the beautiful teal gown, which now was tattered and torn, drops of blood staining it. Her eyes were pleading with him, frightened. She motioned to her throat and a ragged breath escaped from her lips.

Marin stepped in. “We're not sure yet,” he explained. “She was pushed out of a dark sedan about half an hour ago. Shaking his head, his face drawn, he asked, “Luc, did you tell her you were staying here?”

“I only ever told anyone I was employed by you,” Lucien answered without hesitation. “Why?”

“Well, obviously, someone wanted to send us a message,” Martin nearly yelled in frustration. “You, Andre and I were the only ones seen with Juliet when Cam died so unceremoniously at the embassy. It could have been one of Cam's men, one of Korsikov's men. Who saw you with them?”

Lucien shook his head. “I'm sure everyone did. You were the one watching from above. Didn't you see anything suspicious?”

“No,” Martin answered darkly, “And that's what worries me.” 

Kneeling down in front of the traumatized woman and took her hand. “Juliet,” he addressed, “Do you know who did this to you?”

Juliet nodded and motioned for him to grab her a writing utensil and some paper. Martin grabbed some from his desk and handed it over. In an elegant script, she painfully wrote out, “Benton Hines... not a friend... knows everything & wants to take you down.” She dropped the pen on the carpet and thrust the paper at Lucien who read it and handed it over to Martin.

Martin began pacing the length of the study, thinking and mumbling, “Benton Hines, why does that name sound familiar?” He tapped the paper with a single finger while he racked his brain for the answer until it dawned on him. “Benton Hines is the bloody asshole that was trying to launch a corporate takeover against Howard Ellis about five years ago. I'd heard he'd left the country and was making a fortune in America,” he thought aloud. 

Andre entered the room at that moment, announcing, “No, his company went under. He fled the country under the cover of darkness and stories of tax fraud.” He sat down next to Juliet. “I think he is most probably the reason Cam did what he did.”

Juliet nodded, her eyes full of worry. Lucien caught himself staring, his eyes drifting back and forth from her bruised face to her slumped figure. “I think we should let her rest,” he said to Martin. “Can she stay here?”

“That would not be wise,” Martin answered, his concerned face belying the fear in his voice. “They know she is here. I think it best for all of us to retreat.” Once Martin had spoken, it was decided. Lucien went up to his room to pack the few things he had there. Andre had nothing to pack. Martin packed a small duffel bag with weapons, cash, things they might need “just in case.” It was a somber interruption to the peaceful evening they had imagined they would have after their work was done. 

As Lucien and Martin began their descent downstairs, there was an explosion that rocked the entire house. The two men were sent tumbling down the staircase, luckily not setting off any of the guns in Martin's duffel, and landed side by side on the marble floor. Andre rushed out to greet them, followed by a dazed Juliet. “What happened?” Andre asked, his eyes darting around the room.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Martin groaned, standing up and rubbing the bump that was growing on his forehead. “It must have come from outside.” 

Lucien stood and limped toward the door, aware that his side was now aching and bolts of pain were shooting down into his leg. He leaned his arm against the wall and wiggled his toes, rotated his ankle and made sure that nothing was broken. The blast ha d already cracked the door open and Lucien grasped the handle pulling it just enough so that he could see outside. “Oh, shit,” he exclaimed, then glanced at Juliet and blushed. “Sorry, I forgot we were in the presence of a lady.”

“Fuck that,” Juliet grumbled, stomping towards the door, a woman on a mission. “I'm no lady and you're not a gentleman. Let's dispense with the niceties and kick someone's ass.” She had been transformed in Lucien's eyes from the helpless woman, beaten, silent that had been on the settee to a warrior. She grabbed the handle from his stunned grasp and threw the door open. A bright light flooded her form as she stood there, silhouetted against the flames. Lucien watched, mouth agape as she screamed into the night, “What do you fucking want?”

There was no answer, no sounds from the outside, save the crackling of the fire and the sound of retreating footsteps along the gravel drive. As Andre appeared next to Juliet, he squinted his eyes, trying to make out their shadowy forms as they ran, but the light from the blaze was too much. He turned his attention to what had actually exploded. “I'm afraid they got your car,” he reported, turning around to look at Martin.

He did not see the calm, collected Martin he had expected. Instead, the man he faced was petrified, his expression one of pure panic. “Not again,” Martin whispered. “Sweet Jesus, not again.” 

Lucien walked over to him and shook his shoulders. “Martin, man,” he said sympathetically, “I will not let this happen to you again, we won't let it happen again.” He gestured to Andre and Juliet. “Let's go.” He put his arm around Martin's shaking shoulders and guided him toward the front door. 

Andre and Juliet looked puzzled and as they opened their mouths to ask why Martin had suddenly been reduced to a nervous wreck, Lucien shook his head, glared pointedly at them and mouthed, “Later.” In recognition, they nodded their heads and silently followed Lucien and Martin own the front steps and around to the garage, where Andre's car was stowed. It was smaller than Martin's, with just enough room to fit all of them, Andre driving, Martin sitting in front, Juliet in back with Lucien with his knees bent at an awkward angle to accommodate for his long legs. 

As they backed out of the structure and drove past the ca on fire, Andre asked, “So, where to, now?” 

“Lucien's place,” Martin commanded, “They have no idea about it, so it's the safest for us now.” 

Lucien was alarmed. “Are you sure that's the best?” he asked. “I mean, after the other night, the authorities might be looking for me.” He leaned back in his seat and looked at Juliet, who had rested her head against the window and closed her eyes. She gave no indication if she was interested in the conversation.

“That's exactly why we should go there,” Martin reasoned. “It's the last place anyone would expect us to go. If they were to follow, they would only bring attention to themselves.” It was apparent that Martin had collected himself once again, and was now the epitome of command. 

“Reasonable,” Lucien answered, “However, you and I both know there isn't room for all of us there.”

Martin turned around to face him. “That is correct. You and I will be staying there, Andre will be taking Juliet elsewhere. It's not safe for her to associate with us. I believe she will be going home.”

At this, Juliet's head snapped up. “I don't want to go back to that house,” she protested. “I have too many bad memories there.” Her eyes began to well with tears.

Martin glared at her. “You're not going to that house,” he clarified, “Andre will take you home, to your father.” He turned back around and huffed.

A lone tear dripped from her eye and rolled down her cheek. “I don't know if he'll have me back,” she whispered. 

“He'll have no choice.”

The rest of the ride was spent quietly, each of them gazing out the window, contemplating their own thoughts,until Andre pulled in front of Lucien's building. Martin got out and opened Lucien's door. “This is where Luc and I bid you adieu,” he said, bowing into the car, then, to Andre asked, “You know how to get a hold of me if needs be.”

Andre nodded. “I'll be staying on as Juliet's guard until we get this problem solved.” The doors were closed and he sped away, Juliet looking longingly out the back window as Martin and Lucien's forms got smaller and smaller until they were only part of the horizon.

There was no police presence at Lucien's flat and a cursory scan of the local news revealed that there was no report of the attempted rape nor the missing man. Lucien sighed a breath of relief as he set the paper down in the building’s lobby. The doorman, who had taken little notice of him previously, commented, “Yeah, I've 'ad days like that.”

Lucien glanced up, smiling slightly. “Not like I've had,” he sighed, “And be glad you've not.”

Martin summoned him to the elevator and they rode up together, jumping each time it stopped, expecting the worst, but relieved when they were only joined by fellow tenants. As they entered, Lucien's flat, a wave of comfort and exhaustion overtook them. Lucien escaped to his room, bidding Martin goodnight and Martin retreated to his own previous abode, still equipped with a bare twin bed and a chest of drawers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is so short and has been so long coming. I've been distracted with other writings and only realized it had been months since I've worked on this recently. I will still be contributing to it as I have more to this story... it just may take me a while to get there.

“Luc,” Martin whispered fiercely, shaking Lucien's shoulders. “Wake up, boy.”

For a moment, Lucien had forgotten he was home, at least as much home as his threadbare Uni student flat was. He opened his eyes and yawned, noticing that it was still dark outside. “For God's sake, Martin, what?” he asked, annoyed and half-asleep.

“They've found us,” Martin answered. He moved to Lucien's bureau and pulled out some clothes. “Get your ass dressed. We need to move.”

Lucien's eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, but, when they did, he could see the fear that had permeated Martin's face. He did as he was told, slipping the boxers and a pair of jeans on as he slid out from under his blankets, pulling the tee-shirt over his head and sliding his feet into the first pair of shoes he found there on the floor. As he stood up, he grabbed a hoodie from the end of the bed, sure it smelled like cigarette smoke from the last pub he'd worn it to, unconcerned about its state as he followed Martin from the room. “Where are we going?” he whispered as they made their way stealthily down the hallway.

“Washroom, then out the fire escape. I've called a taxi.” Martin grasped the bottom of Lucien's hoodie and pulled him behind him in the way a parent might keep hold of a toddler who was wont to escape. He checked out the corridor outside the flat and, when satisfied they were going to be unseen, pulled Lucien out. “Here,” he said, thrusting a pistol into Lucien's hand. “You might need this.”

Lucien pocketed it. “Are you sure about this?” he asked nervously. “That we've been found?”

Martin pulled his cell phone from his pocket and flashed a text on the screen. It was from Andre and said only one word: “Compromised.”

“Oh, shit,” Lucien mouthed. They stepped into the stairwell, backs against the wall as they carefully climbed down the levels to the basement laundry. When there was a noise, they stopped, Martin's arm flew across Lucien's chest, holding him back until the noise had passed and they sighed with slight relief. When at last they had safely navigated the three flights, Marin quietly opened the washroom door, flicking the light switch on the wall. “It's us,” he said lowly. He beckoned Lucien in and when he was through the door, he secured it both with the lock as well as by pushing a chair up under the handle. 

“I'm glad you made it before they found you,” a voice came from the shadows. Andre emerged, his face beaten, holding his injured arm against his chest. “They ran me off the road and very nearly killed me.”  
He was in the same clothes he wore when they had initially parted ways. “They managed to get very little from me before I escaped.”

“Did you tell them where we sent Juliet Marshall?” Martin asked, his brows furrowed. He sat down on a plastic chair opposite Andre.

The other man shook his head. “No, but they do know the identity of our associate,” he answered motioning to Lucien. “It's only a matter of time before they put everything together and end up here.”

Martin looked over to Lucien who stood against the block wall, arms crossed, face contorted in a smirk, eyes cast down at the floor as though he were lost in his own thoughts. “I believe it is time we initiate phase 2,” he said. “Luc, how do you feel about getting into the courier business?”

Lucien's eyes snapped up to Martin's. “What would that entail?” he asked.

“Well,” Martin took a deep breath, “It would mean a great many things. First of which would be parting ways with me, distancing yourself enough that they think you're no longer a threat. For all they know, the scene at the consulate was a one-time deal. You appeal to their need for someone who handles himself with a generous amount of tact and candor, which you do, and volunteer to run for them.”

“Which would mean what, exactly?” He was concerned about distancing himself from Martin, worried that his mentor needed his protection now more than ever. 

Martin stood up and walked to him, placing his hands on his shoulders. “Running whatever they need you to run.” He smiled a cheshire cat smile. “You would still work for me, of course, and report their activities for me.”

“Like a double agent?” Lucien raised his eyebrows, his eyes belying the interest he suddenly had. The thought of being on both sides of the fence was both frightening and tantalizing. He had only been trained in the business for a few months, formally, but as he thought about it, realized that Martin had been grooming him for the role since they had met. There had been more to the plans of getting out of the hospital and his mentoring than Lucien had picked up at the time. His mouth curling into a smile, he answered, “I like it.”

Andre came to stand beside them. “Are you sure of this?”

“I've been anticipating it,” Martin answered. “I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think Luc could do it.” He sat down again and patted the chairs next to him, inviting them men over. “What we need now is a way to get you in there,” he said to Lucien. “I've already faked my own death, once, I am sure they'd see through that.”

Lucien let a chuckle escape. “Is that how you ended up in the hospital?” When he noticed that Martin didn't share his amusement, the smile fell from his face. He thought for a moment and then suggested, “What if I just go in and surrender? I'm green enough it might be believable.”

“The boy has been in an asylum,” Andre interjected, “They might just think he'd broke again.” He tapped his temple with one finger. “That would be to our advantage.”

There came a knock on the door. “Hello? Is the washroom free?” a voice came from outside. The three men shut up, silently shooting glances at each other, hoping the student would leave. “Hello? I heard you talking.”

Lucien cleared his throat. In a deep voice, he yelled, “Out of order.” 

They waited for a few more minutes and heard a huff and a grumble as the student retreated back up the stairs. “We should leave,” Andre said. “I know a back way.” He guided Martin and Luc to a mostly unused service door hidden behind a panel next to the circuit breaker. He jimmied the handle and opened it slowly, its progress hampered by a tall shrub that blocked it from the outside.

“How did you know that was here?” Lucien asked in surprise.

“I found it when I lived here with you,” Martin answered. “I knew it would come in handy some day.”

There were two cars at the curb. One was a taxi, the other a black sedan with heavily tinted windows. As the men approached them, both Martin and Andre turned towards Lucien. “I'm truly sorry for this,” Martin said, his hand balled into a fist landing square into Lucien's core. Andre followed suit, pulling his arm from its place on his chest and pummeling Lucien about the head until he dropped to the ground. As Lucien crumpled on the concrete, Martin and Andre continued their assault, kicking him in the ribs and behind the knees, drawing blood and bruises from him along with groans of pain.

“Why?” Lucien asked before he blacked out.

The driver of the sedan emerged and opened the back door. The three of them picked up Lucien's limp figure from the sidewalk and hoisted him into the back seat, folding his legs as they tried to get his entire length to fit in the cramped quarters. The driver shut the door and looked to Martin for further instructions. “You know what to do, now,” Martin said. The driver nodded silently before getting back into the sedan and speeding away.

“Poor fucker didn't have a clue,” Andre said coldly as they watched the car leave. “Do you think he'll catch on when he wakes up?”

Martin nodded. “He's quick, that one,” he answered. “I don't doubt that he'll catch on.”


	10. Chapter 10

Lucien's head ached horribly, his body was sore, his mind was a fog. He groaned as he rolled over, barely able to open his eyes for the pain that shot through them. The room was dark but barely illuminated by a single lamp that sat on a table opposite where he laid. Other than that, it was devoid of any identifying characteristics. He closed his eyes again and swung his feet over the edge of whatever it was he was lying on, soles hitting the floor as he used his elbow to raise himself up. It was a pallet he was on, barely cushioned, covered by a thin blanket and an overly-flat pillow stained with blood, most likely his and he wore nothing more than his skivvies and bruises. That was a s far as he got before the door burst open and he was confronted by a barrel-chested man in fatigues. “Where am I?” Lucien asked quietly, sure in his near-stupor he sounded mildly drunk. “What is this place?”

The man stayed silent, instead grabbing Lucien by the forearm and foisting him through the open door. Lucien smacked into the wall on the opposite side of the corridor with a sickening thud as the man pinned him by the back of the neck. “Tell me how you did it?” he asked in a thick accent that Lucien couldn't discern.

“Did what?” Lucien asked, his voice muffled by his face pressed into the wall.

The man snarled menacingly. “Cam Marshall,” he commanded, “You were there, we know you did it.” He pulled Lucien away from the wall and threw him on the ground, landing in the corner of the hallway.

Lucien leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes again. He let out a long, deep breath. “You're mistaken,” he replied calmly. “I was there, I will admit to that, but I'm not the man you want.” When his interrogator did nothing else, he opened his eyes and fixed them on the man. “Let me go and I will give you everything you need.” He was in survival mode, now, his reflexes in tune despite the beatings, despite the pain. He felt betrayed by those he considered closest and he knew they would pay dearly for making him out to be a patsy.

Instead of moving to take control of Lucien again, the man crossed his arms and smiled, his teeth gapped and broken, making for even more of a gruesome appearance. “You would betray your friends, then?”

Scooting himself up, using the wall as support, Lucien nodded, his face drawn. “They're no friends of mine,” he growled. 

Satisfied with the answer, the man held out his hand to Lucien. “Then you shall have your justice.” As Lucien grabbed his hand, he pulled him into himself. “Now, if you betray me, there will be hell to pay,” he threatened.

It was with that statement that Lucien knew exactly where he was and in whose charge. The accent, while not a dead giveaway at first, had burrowed itself into his psyche until he recognized it. The man with whom he was now allied had been at the party. He was one of the guards employed by the consulate, a close, personal guard of Korsikov. “I understand,” he said under his breath. His reality was now this, working with the enemy. The play that Martin had begun was immediately recognizable and he was astonished that neither this man nor his employer had expected it, but they hadn't. They had only to believe what Lucien told them and he had only to continue his ruse. It was perfect in its simplicity.

As the man let Lucien go, he was led down the hallway to another room. “Shower and clothing are in there,” the man directed as Lucien entered. “You will be expected downstairs shortly thereafter.” He closed the door and left Lucien alone. 

Lucien turned the shower on and climbed in, sitting on the floor of the tub with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms around them. The water hit just on his head, soaking his hair and making it kink up before running down his back and over his face. He sighed as the steam swirled around him, hoping it would help clear his head. There was no time for collecting his thoughts; he knew he'd need to be razor sharp if he was going to pull it off. After a few minutes of quiet contemplation, he stood up, using the bar on the wall to steady himself and washed, watching with interest as his blood, ruddy and diluted by soap bubbles, ran into the drain. 

After he got out of the shower and dried off, Lucien grabbed the pile of clothing that was sitting on the edge of the sink. They were the correct size, but nothing he'd choose to clothe himself in. Given that they were his only option, though, he slid them on, looking keenly at himself in the mirror as he fastened the blue jeans and green polo they had left for him. The loafers were a bit tight, the lack of socks and his damp skin not helping matters any, so Lucien opted to forget them with hopes of begging some sort of alternative footwear from his captors. 

Or were they captors? Even for all his thought, Lucien could remember nothing of his time after the moment he'd escaped his building with Martin and Andre, save the savage faces as they began to beat him. He'd blacked out and woken up in the present, confused, hurt, abandoned, alone that he knew of, all the tools he needed stolen away. His cell phone had been missing, the pistol Martin had bequeathed to him that had been stowed in a holster under his shirt, gone as well. For all he knew, they had rescued him from whatever Hell Andre had relegated him to.

He exited the bathroom and padded the rest of the way down the hallway, finding a stairwell at the end of it. The man had told him he was needed downstairs, so he crept quietly, listening for anything hinky, his ears perking at the tiniest noise until he was no longer exposed. Leaning back against a corner, he was startled when a voice next to him said, “Welcome.”

Lucien drew in a sharp breath and prepared to defend himself, relaxing only when he saw the owner of the voice, none other than Vladimir Korsikov. “Ambassador,” he said in relief. “I am not quite sure who I was expecting, but it certainly was not you.”

“Yes,” the ambassador smiled cordially. “I hear from Mikal that you are joining our little family here.”

So, Mikal had been the muscle-man's name. Lucien nodded. “I'm sure you don't remember me,” he sighed. “You meet so many people. My name is Lucien Darke.”

Korsikov narrowed his eyes and studied Lucien for a moment. “I do remember you,” he finally replied. “You were with Mr. Goins.”

“Martin, yes,” Lucien agreed, almost as though he had forgotten his benefactor. “I am ready and willing to be in your employ, if you'll have me.”

The Ambassador moved away from him. “You're already working for me,” he said. “Now, please, follow me into the study and I will give you your first assignment.”

Lucien followed him, still wary of his surroundings, drinking everything in, from the plaster walls scarcely decorated with more that a few paintings and places where it looked like the paint had been touched up, to the shabby carpeting upon which they now tread. He knew it was not the consulate, it was not opulent enough for a man of Vladimir Korsikov's wealth and standing, therefore, it was somewhere else entirely, some compound in which these mercenaries felt safe. And now he, the viper in their nest, would be privy to its secrets. It was a heavy weight to bear, but he had no doubt that Martin felt he was ready to take it on. “Ambassador,” he addressed as they walked, “Can you tell me how I got here?”

“You were dumped,” Korsikov answered. “Rather unceremoniously, I might add, beaten to a pulp. Your blood still graces the stoop this morning if you would like to see for yourself.”

Lucien shook his head. “I'd rather not.”

“No keen eye for blood, boy?” Korsikov taunted. “I would think Mr. Goins would be more like to keep company with persons who were not squeamish.” As though he were answering his own objection, he finished with, “But, perhaps, this is why you were left here. Useless boy.”

He had it in his head to play along. If that was what the Ambassador chose to believe, far be it from himself to refute it. “I am absolutely sick with the thought,” Lucien remarked with disgust. “Squeamish is too light of a word for it.”

 

“Well, you'll do well to keep that to yourself,” Korsikov grumbled. “None of my men, nor none of my women, can claim that disorder.” He opened a heavy oak door and passed through the frame. 

Lucien followed in silence, the knowledge that he was being allowed to live only through the good fortune of having inside information on Martin's dealings tantamount in his mind. He resolved himself to memorizing each and every thing he was being told, and the entirety of his observations would be eventually reported to Martin. 

The study was as old and decrepit as the rest of the house, smoke-stained walls covered in aging wallpaper that looked like it had been installed in the early 1970s, green threadbare shag carpeting, a leather-clad bar at one end boasting scratched wood paneling on top. It screamed kitsch. “Interesting study you have here,” he commented.

“It does what I need it to,” the other man answered as he poured himself a scotch behind the bar. “Care for a drink?”

Lucien held up his hand and shook his head. “No, thank you,” he answered. “I prefer to spend my morning with a clear head.” He knew that violence was a palpable threat when he drank, but he knew the man in front of him did not. “Vladimir, eh, Mr. Korsikov,” he began, hesitant on how he should address this new colleague, “What exactly are your intentions with me?”

Korsikov took a sip of his drink and set it on top of the bar. Leaning on his elbows, he glowered. “Lucien, you are walking a delicate line here,” he said. “I would be lying if I didn't acknowledge that. You are a known associate of a man I consider my enemy, yet, here you are, abandoned. I need to know, do I trust you?”

Lucien nodded. “You can, sir.”

Smirking, the Ambassador added, “How can you prove your loyalty to me?” His eyes drilled into Lucien for a few minutes before his smirk twisted into a cruel smile. Lucien returned his gaze with his own steely-eyed resolve.“I believe I know my own answer,” the man finally said. He picked up a phone that was wired into the bar, dialed a number and spoke to the person on the other end of the line in Russian before returning his attention to Lucien. “Your test will begin presently.”

Agitated by the turn of events, Lucien's eyes darted towards the door at the slightest sound. He waited patiently only by the presence of his own self-control. When a shadow appeared in the doorway, he watched it, its form morphing into the figure of Mikal as he forced a hooded person into the room. A whimper came from under the hood, soft tears pleading for release. Mikal forced the person to the floor, kicking the knees and making them kneel.

Korsikov caught Lucien's attention with a clunk as he set down a pistol on the bar. “Now, my boy,” he said, “You have a choice.”

Mikal ripped the hood off the figure, revealing the red, tear-stained, frightened face of Juliet Marshall. “No! Please!” she shrieked, oblivious to Lucien's presence at first.

“You take the gun and you either kill this woman,” Korsikov continued, “Or you try to kill my man.” 

At first, Lucien shook his head, his eyes meeting and locking with Juliet's as recognition flashed over her face, but he was at a draw. His success relied on earning Korsikov's trust and he knew there would be dire consequences should he not. He grabbed the gun from the bar and held it at arm's length away from Juliet's forehead as he cocked it. “I'm sorry,” he whispered, hoping she heard him, watching as time seemed to slow down, the length of her tears drawing longer as they rolled down her cheeks, the room turning to deafening silence against the blood rushing through his head. She was his weakness, Korsikov had known somehow. He thought she'd been whisked away home, but, apparently, that was not the case. Lifting the gun, in what seemed like an instant, he aimed and fired, shooting Mikal in the shoulder, dangerously close to hitting his artery. 

Juliet screamed and scrunched her eyes shut at the sound, waiting for the impact and not feeling it. When it became apparent that she wasn't the target, she opened her eyes and her mouth formed an O.

Mikal blinked as the bullet hit him, going into shock as the metal tore through flesh and muscle and bone, exiting out the back of his shoulder and embedding itself in the wall behind him. He took a deep breath and his other hand flew up to the wound, covering it, his blood cascading over it as instinct began to take over. “You sonofabitch!” he yelled, his voice tinged with a ferocity that he'd not yet let on. He let go of his shoulder and lunged in blind anger.

Lucien turned his lithe body, narrowly avoiding the impact of Mikal's bulk. He held his hands up and dropped the gun at his feet as he watched Mikal barrel head first into the wood of the bar, sending splinters everywhere before stopping, hanging limply from the hole, his neck cut by the jagged wood. Lucien caught his breath and kicked Mikal's leg. There was no response.

He looked up at Korsikov, his eyes belying his internal satisfaction at seeing the man he'd thought of as a threat now dead of his own bull-headed stupidity. “I'm sorry,” Lucien said. “I couldn't kill her.”

Instead of the anger he'd anticipated, the Ambassador looked amused. “Come here, my dear,” he smiled, holding his hand out to Juliet. She pushed herself up from the floor and walked towards him, taking his hand and curling into his arm like a spoiled cat. Korsikov kissed her deeply, her pleasure at the action evident in the way she reached around him and held him. 

Lucien was disgusted. He'd imagined this scene many times with himself in Korsikov's place, but, now that he knew the truth, it sat cold in the pit of his stomach. “You've been his all along, haven't you?” he said bitterly.

Juliet and Vladimir turned their attention to him. “My love,” Korsikov cooed, “We seem to have found ourselves a new body guard.”


	11. Chapter 11

There was an adjustment period for Lucien, one made even longer by his willful avoidance of Juliet. He preferred not speaking with her, instead regarding her coolly, deferring any and all questions to Vladimir. A gun had been provided to him, the same one he had killed Mikal with, in fact, his instructions being that he was to let no one on the property without prior notification and proper identification and, thus far, his assignment had proved tedious. Koriskov had overestimated the amount of attempts there would be on his life, Lucien thought.

By the end of the first week, Lucien had mostly forgiven Juliet her transgressions and had begun to study his new employers. He had gathered that Vladimir and Juliet had been together long before her husband was assassinated, and, thus far, though the death had been planned by both Korsikov and Martin, the details of its actual execution were disputed. And therein was the problem. One of Vladimir's overheard calls was a heated discussion over payment, perhaps money due for Cam's death, that became a screaming match between himself and an unknown person on the other line. From all that Lucien had observed, Cam Marshall's murder was the source of contention that broke the ties between Korsikov and Martin.

There was one other member in the house whom Lucien regarded as a mystery, for the most part. The man's name was never revealed to him, and Vladimir had referred to him only as "You," when he was in the room. He was never sent for and he remained somewhat a spectre, even in his proclivity to dress entirely in black and keep to the shadows. He seemed to be as keenly interested in Lucien as Lucien was in him, perhaps under Korsikov's direction, waiting for Lucien to slip up and reveal an ulterior motive, but Lucien was careful. He'd been stripped of anything he could use to contact Martin and he wasn't about to try. In his mind, for the plan to work, Martin needed to remain dead to him.

The spectre accosted Lucien in one of the narrow hallways one day and they engaged in a stare-down for some time before either of them spoke. Lucien was the one to break the silence, holding his hand out cordially. "I don't believe we've met," he said, his voice low, "My name is Lucien Darke."

"I know who you are," the spectre snarled. His voice was rough, the telltale sign of a chain smoker. "Vladimir seems to trust you, but I don't." He backed away from Lucien, stealing back into the shadows. "Trust me, when you fall, I will be there with my finger on the trigger."

"Doubtful," Lucien mumbled as he went the opposite direction. 

After that altercation, he made certain to inquire about the spectre. "That man," he asked Korsikov, "Who is he?"

Vladimir laughed. "That man is of no consequence to you," he answered. "He's a hired assassin, just as you are, perhaps more deadly. He keeps my interests and I keep his." It was the most ambiguous answer Lucien could imagine, but he felt no need to press further. In time, he figured, he would unmask the man's true identity. Though they had started off on the wrong foot, he was sure that the spectre would prove to be a valuable asset, eventually.

His second week in, there was to be another event in the Russian Embassy, a reception ball for several visiting dignitaries from former Soviet republics. Lucien was to serve as doorman, his primary duties being to allow only those on the list in. He nearly balked at the assignment, but, upon deeper thought, realized that the position offered him the unique opportunity to be introduced to those who might be most beneficial to his endgame. He knew that there would be amongst the crowd several members of the Bratva, and, within those, might also prove to be some who aspired to usurp Vladimir. His plan began to formulate.

The day of the event, Lucien was outfitted with a smart tuxedo and tails, complete with white tie and holster that fit just under his jacket for easy access without looking like he was armed. He rode to the Embassy with Korsikov and Juliet, still unable to look her in the eyes, but at least comfortable enough with his own unease that he could converse with her without making her feel like he was ignoring her. Their conversations still proved stilted and cold, much to the delight of Vladimir, whose initial misgivings about taking on Lucien had revolved around his fondness for her. In short, were anything to happen between them, neither of them would survive, for that was the price Vladimir was willing to pay. Everyone in the limousine was well aware that Juliet's devotion was not one of love, only one of power and money.

When they arrived, Lucien escorted the couple into the building before taking his place at the entrance, his stance wide, his height towering over anyone who began ascending the cement steps and, he hoped, he was threatening enough to give the impression that he was in total control of the situation. He had spent down time at the house reading and practicing his Russian, under the ruse that he wanted to be able to understand his employer in his native language, if need be, even though Vladimir had mastered the English language and spoke it more often than anything else. He had appreciated Lucien's gesture and supported his eagerness to be accepted into his organization. As each dignitary arrived, he greeted them with a bow and a simple greeting of, "Dobro pozhalovat'." Those who only nodded back and smiled at him as he checked their names were allowed entrance. For those that nodded sternly and shook his hand gruffly, he would lean close and whisper, "Bratva?" If the common answer was, "Utverditel'nyy," he would place a star next to their name on the list. He kept a copy of the list folded in his pocket that he meant to transfer the information to.

Once the entire assembly had arrived and the ballroom of the Embassy was filled with dancing and happy chatter and the smells of gourmet foods wafted from the kitchen, Lucien closed the door and stood guard against it, his only task being to allow who wanted to leave exit. As he stood watch, he could make out the groups of people as they stood in circles and semi-circles, drinks in hand, some with cigarettes dangling from fingers and lips, engaged in conversations. None of them seemed surreptitious, all were keenly animated. He spied Vladimir and Juliet as they made their way from cluster to cluster, smiling and speaking with each member of the assembly at their leisure. Lucien had also decided that keeping an eye on their whereabouts in the hall was the best course of action, and it was fairly easy until Vladimir disappeared with a group of men through an open door, leaving Juliet conversing with the women they'd also left behind. Lucien began to sweat, his entire plan beginning to unravel with the secret convention. He began to move away from the door, but was spied by the spectre, who simply shook his head and pointed at the door as though he was telling Lucien that he shouldn't abandon his post. Lucien stayed put.

After what seemed like hours, Korsikov and his cronies reappeared and joined the rest of their parties. Lucien saw him motion to the spectre and point at the door, waving his finger, then pointing it at Lucien and beckoning him down to the floor. The spectre was nimble, appearing next to Lucien like he had materialized out of nothing. "Vladimir requires your assistance," he instructed. Lucien acknowledged him and descended the wide staircase down to Korsikov.

"Ah, my friends," Vladimir said to his group once Lucien arrived, "I want you to meet my newest associate, Lucien Darke." The men all rumbled approvingly, the women all smiling and blushing as Lucien shook their hands gently. He was confident that he could charm any one of them into giving him the information he'd need. He would finesse it out of them and Korsikov would be none the wiser.

"What is your background?" one of the men asked, Lucien recognized him as the Ambassador from Georgia. 

"I was trained by Martin Goins," Lucien answered. His reply caused a ripple of suspicious looks of disapproval, so he followed it up with, "And was ruthlessly betrayed by him as well."

Vladimir interjected his own approval. "'Tis true," he said, "Young Lucien here was beaten quite violently and left as a bloody calling card on my doorstep."

"And how do you know he's to be trusted?" the argument came.

"Do you see Mikal?" Korsikov asked. When the general consensus was to the negative, he followed up with, "Ah, so you see, he has already proven himself."

Upon seeing that Vladimir had returned, Juliet wove her way through the crowd and wound her arm around his side. "Gentlemen," she greeted politely.

Another of the men smiled at her. "So sorry for the loss of your husband," he said somberly.

Juliet smiled at him. "But the loss is his, not mine," she replied. 

"Cam Marshall's loss is my gain," Korsikov answered, his glee at the outcome more apparent in his eyes than his demeanor. "His holdings notwithstanding, I've also gained myself a beautiful woman." He kissed Juliet on the cheek. No one except Lucien noticed her slight revulsion of the act. It was only a tiny recoil, but it was there.

"My sweet," she fluttered her eyelashes at him, "Your presence has been requested by the president of the Central Bank."

Vladimir smirked. "Then, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I must take this opportunity." He bowed slightly and was whisked away by Juliet.

As soon as Korsikov was gone, all attention turned to Lucien. "What was all this about Bratva?" asked one of the more portly fellows. 

"I've had suspicions," Lucien answered calmly, "Which I felt the need to fulfill and which you gentlemen have been so kind to confirm."

"Why?" They scrutinized him, eyes narrowing, teeth bared like hungry wolves. "What need do you have of knowing Bratva?"

With a sinister smile, Lucien replied, "I've heard rumblings, men who seek to obliterate my employer and, seeing as how I'm his body guard, felt it good to know in whose company he is." He held his hands out towards them. "Gentlemen, he keeps excellent company with the likes of you," he grinned. Satisfied with the looks on their faces as they gloated, Lucien took a deep breath. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to resume my post."

Lucien relieved the spectre from his place at the door, standing guard over the crowd. He'd set his plan in place and there was nothing to do but wait for the next opportunity.


	12. Chapter 12

One by one, Lucien saw the pieces of his plan fall into place. 

It began with the day after the reception. He'd returned to the compound with Vladimir and Juliet as though he'd not tested the waters with Korsikov's less-savory associates, chatting with the Ambassador about his intentions to visit Moscow for an international conference. Of course, all this was under the ruse that it was for matters of state, rather than what it really was, a conglomerate of Bratva bigwigs. As Vladimir spent the entirety of the day on the phone finalizing both his and Juliet's travel the following week, it gave Lucien the opportunity to connect with some of the men he'd met. He had managed, afterwards, to steal into Korsikov's office and copy down the contact information for them without coming under suspicion of the spectre by using the ruse that the Ambassador had asked him to retrieve several things. Being as how, only moments before, the spectre had seen Lucien conversing with Vladimir and motioning towards the office, he had no reason to be suspicious. When Lucien returned to Vladimir's room, arms laden with notebooks. 

Little did anyone else in the house know, Lucien had meticulously copied the contacts onto he list in his pocket, carefully noting not only Bratva, but those who might be sympathetic. Once he returned to his room, he slid a disposable cell phone he'd managed to purchase during one of the Ambassador's many sojourns into the city out of the space between his mattress. He flipped it open, turned it on and dialed the first number. It rang twice and a woman answered. "Zdravstvuyte," he greeted with his best pronunciation, "Vy govorite po-angliyski?" 

"Da, konechno," she answered, then with a thick accent continued, "How can I help you?"

Lucien grinned to himself. "May I please speak with Aleksei Dorosh?"

"One moment, please." She set the phone down and he could hear her calling for the man he sought.

It took a few minutes for Aleksei Dorosh to answer the phone. When he did, he greeted Lucien with a gruff, "Da."

"So sorry for intruding upon your evening, Mr. Dorosh," Lucien began. "I hope you will remember me, Lucien Darke. I work for Vladimir Korsikov?"

"What do you want?" the man on the other line was direct, at least. "I've already told your employer that he's got my support next week."

Surprised at the statement, Lucien weighed his options before he continued. If this man had already pledged his allegiance to Vladimir, would he be open to the ideas Lucien wanted to present or would he ruin the plan. "How much of that support is genuine?" Lucien asked.

"Why do you ask?" the man was suspicious, and rightly so.

Lucien took a deep breath. "There are certain..." he paused, "Individuals who are unhappy with my employer's regime and would be extremely pleased if he were to suddenly retire." He put emphasis on the final word of his statement, hoping the man would get his gist. "Are you one of them?"

There was a moment of silence on the line, quiet muted by a hand put over the speaker, broken only by the muffled voice of Aleksei Dorosh. When he finally returned to the conversation, it was to apologize. "I'm sorry," he said. "I needed to excuse my staff before I said any more."

Excellent, thought Lucien. Out loud, he asked, "Why is that, Mr. Dorosh?"

The man coughed and took a sip of the drink he'd had with him. "I mean your employer no harm," he said, his voice more hushed than before. "But I believe he's bad for business. Already, he's made a mockery of the Bratva, flaunting his connections as he threatens other worldly officials. But, please, no one can know I feel this way."

"Your secret is safe with me, Sir," Lucien smiled. "Do you know a man named Martin Goins?" When the man answered in the affirmative, he continued. "Martin and I go way back. He's both my friend and my mentor." 

"I've heard that Mr. Goins threw you out like so much trash," Dorosh said. "Why do you bring him up?"

Lucien chuckled. "Because it's a ruse," he snarled. "He and Vladimir were cozy until Cam Marshall's death. See, it had been planned by both, but Marin acted independently to finalize the arrangement, much to Vladimir's dismay. Apparently, there was a dispute about some of Marshall's holdings which are now being scrutinized by the United States government. These dealings have Vladimir's name all over them. If they were made public, it could end him."

"Did they not go to the wife?" Dorosh sounded curious now, his voice no longer lowered in secrecy. "I thought that was why Vladimir had taken up with her."

"Juliet has no idea," Lucien answered. "And she's not nearly as enamored of Vladimir as he is of her. I suspect she's only with him as long as he's in power." He wanted to tell Dorosh more, but he also wanted to bide his time. "Do you have a way you might be able to contact Martin Goins?"

"I do," the man answered. 

There was a noise in the hallway outside Lucien's room, a shuffle of feet as someone walked by and a thump against the wall, perhaps an impact against the corner. He waited until it was quiet once again, then whispered into the phone, "Good. I want you to contact him and ask him to call this number at this same time tomorrow evening."

"I can do that," Aleksei Dorosh answered. 

Lucien thanked him and said goodbye, hanging up his phone and stowing it just as there was a knock on his door. "Hello?" he called. "Please come in."

The door swung open and the spectre loomed in its vacant frame. "I heard you speaking in here," the man accused. 

Smiling broadly, Lucien held up a book. "Well, yes, you did," he replied. "You've caught me practicing my Russian."

The spectre's eyes narrowed, full of hatred and suspicion. "I am fairly certain that was not Russian you were speaking in," he hissed.

Lucien's smile dropped as he stood up and stood face to face with his accuser. "And who are you to accuse me of anything?" he sneered. "As far as I have gauged, you and I hold equal sway in this organization. In fact, I may have slightly more influence, given my previous dealings. You seem to know everything about me, yet I know nothing about you."

"Which is what I prefer," the spectre returned. "And I do know a good deal about you. You are a traitor."

There was a moment when Lucien felt his defenses begin to fall, but he recouped with another smile. "Well, seeing as how we are, in essence, brothers," he used the word to appraise the spectre's reaction, which was a wary flick of his eyes, "Perhaps, we ought to get to know one another a bit better."

It looked like the man's defenses were on the verge of crumbling, his hard exterior cracking in all the right places. "Brothers," he weighed the word in his mouth, glancing away. "Brothers." Looking back at Lucien, he asked, "Do you assume just because I am working for Vladimir Korsikov that I am Bratva?"

And there it was, the confirmation Lucien needed. "Oh, not at all," Lucien answered, "I was simply implying that others may think so and all this skulking and suspicion between us must not look very brotherly to those in the know." He approached the spectre and clasped his hand on the man's shoulder. "However, brother, for that is what I shall consider you, if you are not Bratva, why are you here?"

The spectre looked confused for a moment before answering. "If I told you, I would need to kill you," he growled.

Lucien leaned closer and hissed, "Would you now? Are you sworn to protect Vladimir at all costs?" He leaned back to measure the man's expression. "Or are you here to destroy him, brother?"

Now, the man looked legitimately nervous. "I...I..." he began to stutter, a worried look in his eye, "I cannot answer that."

A satisfied grin spread across Lucien's face. "Well, brother, or shall I call you the spectre, or shall I call you another name? I deduce that you and I may perhaps be seeking the same endgame, playing for differing parties. Am I wrong?"

"Sebastian," the spectre finally replied as he nodded and kicked the door shut behind him. "You may call me Seth. I am here only under the express direction of Barrett Damson. He wants to make sure his business interests are protected."

"Which means?" Lucien's concern piqued.

Seth sighed. "Mr. Damson wants to assure that Vladimir is not sided with the wrong factions of the Bratva, which, at the moment, he is in danger of joining."

"I see," Lucien said. "What would you say if you knew there were certain members who saw these," he paused for effect, "Unscrupulous actions of his as a threat?"

"That would change things immensely," Seth responded. "Have you come across some unsavory information?"

Lucien shook his head. "Not just yet," he answered. He wanted to keep his cards close to the cuff and not tell Seth his plan. "However, I will be sure the moment I do, you'll be the first I tell." When Seth smiled amicably, he excused himself. "Now, if you'll excuse me, brother, I've got some more Russian to study."

Once Seth had left the room, Lucien locked the door. He wanted no more interruptions. Now that he knew where his supposed nemesis stood, he could use it and make the man an integral part of the plan without his knowledge of even being involved. He laid down in bed to think, the wheels of his mind turning as he stared at the paint-peeled, water-damaged ceiling. The seeds of doubt had been planted in both Aleksei Dorosh's mind as well as in Sebastian's mind and Lucien had but only to wait until they flourished into full-on paranoia.

Lucien and Sebastian operated with their usual stand-offishness the next day, the only clue to the change of their relationship a surreptitious glance that was missed by everyone else involved. Vladimir had long ago given up on trying to get them to act civil with one another, preferring instead the cold countenance on which they'd resigned themselves. He had no idea that his world, his empire was balanced upon but a thin spire of lies and was on the verge of toppling into oblivion. Both Lucien and Sebastian had been brought into his organization with strategy in mind, both for the parties whose interests they secretly served as well as for Korsikov's own use and these, above all, were now at diametric opposites. Something was going to break and someone was going to bleed, but he has no idea he was that someone.


	13. Chapter 13

Lucien retired to his room earlier than usual that evening, feigning a headache and complaining that it was affecting his depth perception. He rubbed the bridge of his nose for added effect, blaming the whole affair on a bout with sinusitis. Since there had been nothing much happening at the compound, Vladimir dismissed him with an apathetic hand wave. "Go, then," he said, "Perhaps you'll feel better in the morning." 

As Lucien passed Sebastian in the hallway, he winked. "Tonight's been a slow one," he whispered, then, dropping his voice even lower so it was barely audible to the other man, added, "Now, remember what we discussed."

Seth nodded his head just enough for it to be perceptible before replying. "I'll take over watch, then." 

Of course, it was all a ruse. There wasn't much to watch. The evening had been relatively quiet and even Korsikov seemed to be a party to the tedium, choosing to busy himself with a snifter of aged brandy and the slowly climbing curls of the smoke of his cigar as they wound themselves ever upward, perfuming the air around him with the smell of sweet tobacco. Juliet yawned as she reclined on a settee in the corner, her nose buried in a seedy romance novel that boasted a painting of a couple dressed in period clothing, yet scantly clad and in a scandalous embrace. Her interest seemed to be held only for a few minutes at a time because she would punctuate it with a sweeping look of boredom around the room, just in case something more interesting had suddenly presented itself.

The rest of the house was silent as a tomb, still with an air of anticipation for some unknown event. Lucien reached his room without any complications or run-ins with any other members of Vladimir's staff. It was unusual, but not unheard of, he had learned. In fact, on any given day, the staff was entirely at the whim of Koriskov's mood. This evening, apparently, he had dismissed them. Once inside, he closed and locked the door, pulled the cell phone from between the mattress, laid down and waited in the dark for Martin's call.

He hadn't long to wait. His phone buzzed silently on his chest within minutes of lying down. When he flipped it open, he recognized the number right away. "Martin, hello," he greeted in a lowered voice.

"Good god, boy," Martin exclaimed. "I can't say I didn't expect this call." He cleared his throat. "I hope you don't harbor any ill will against myself or Andre."

Lucien's voice was low, his intention on keeping it quiet enough that even if there was someone standing on the other side of his door listening in they would hear only soft mumble. "Actually," he answered, "I figured out your plan the moment I woke up in the compound." 

"Good man," Martin chuckled. "You've always been incredibly bright." He paused for a moment and Lucien could hear some shuffling in the background, the telltale sound of some sort of paper as it crumpled. "Now, Luc," he finally said, "Tell me what you've accomplished while there." He listened attentively as Lucien outlined what had happened at the ball, his dealings with Vladimir's Bratva brethren.

"The old man suspects nothing," Lucien gloated. "In fact, I've become his number one." He left out any references to Sebastian, on principle that, although Martin was like a father to him and he trusted the man implicitly, he had already made the decision that Seth was his ace in the hole should dealings on either side of the precarious ledge he stood on fall through. "All I've really got to do now is wait."

Martin's approval came in the form of a satisfied grunt. "Are you able to get away?" he asked.

"I believe so," Lucien replied. "I've taken the car and driven for supplies before. I've given him no reason to distrust me on these errands." 

The plan Martin outlined involved several key elements and Lucien paid keen attention to everything Martin told him, occasionally interjecting an interested, "Yes, I see." The more he listened, the more thrilled he got, the tantalizing prospect of bringing down one of the most illustrious figures of the criminal underground was delicious. Martin's plan seemed perfect and he'd strategized for every possible scenario. It was flawless. Lucien ended the call by telling Martin, "I'll call you as soon as I know when we can set this in motion."

There was a four day interim between his call with Martin and the day that Korsikov assigned his outing. During that time, Lucien continued to make connections with other members of the Bratva that were not keen on Vladimir's continued power. Beginning with Aleksei Dorosh, his pieces began to fall into place. Within days after the his call with Dorosh, Lucien had been contacted by five other members of Bratva, all echoing Dorosh's sentiment that they wanted to see Korsikov fall. Few of them felt any sort of loyalty for the man, in fact many of them had already pledged loyalties to Marin in exchange for his protection of their interests. Lucien now counted in his pocket, seven of the highest echelon, and the numbers continued to rise. 

The evening prior to his engagement with Martin, Lucien received an odd call. It was not unusual for him to get calls from unlisted or private numbers, the underground wary as it was of moles and turncoats, so he thought nothing of the new call. He answered it as he did all. "Privet brat," he mumbled into the phone and waited for the response.

A gruff voice on the other end of the phone grunted out, "Ostanovis." 

"Vy govorite po-angliyski?" Lucien responded. It was a familiar dance, this conversation. He'd asked nearly every caller if they spoke English, but something in the way the man on the other end told him to stop didn't sit right. 

The caller's accent was thick, syrupy and almost as discernible in English as it was in his native language. "You need to stop what you are doing," he commanded. "Lives are at stake."

Lucien chuckled. Certainly he'd realized that the plan meant there would be some bloodshed and he was prepared to face that collateral damage when it appeared. "I'm aware of that," he replied. "Who is this?"

"It is not needed," the man answered. "Korsikov must not die."

At that last statement, Lucien's eyes widened. This person knew and knew more than he'd let on. Suspiciously, Lucien hissed, "I don't know who you are or what you think you know, but there are no plans to kill Vladimir. How dare you insinuate someone as loyal as I would wish him even one iota of harm." He listened for the caller's response and heard nothing save the breath that entered the mouthpiece. "Who is this?" He asked a final time.

"Eto preduprezhdeniye," the man threatened. The words hung heavy in the air. "This is a warning."

Shaken, Lucien hung up the phone. He made a conscious effort to forget the threat as he got ready for bed, stripping down to his skivvies and covering himself with the thin blanket. It was too late to call Martin and tell him about the call, or he would have done so. Instead, he laid prone, burying his face in the flat stuffing of the pillow and tried to will himself to sleep. He'd neglected to stow the phone back in its hiding place and he felt the buzz of it against his side as it rang once again. Determined not to rattle himself any more, he glanced at the screen, pushed a button on the side and let the call go to voice mail before shoving it back between the mattresses. 

There were no more days to proceed with caution, he knew as much as he woke the next morning. It was cloudy, drizzly, foggy, typical English morning weather that he could see along the horizon as he looked out his solitary window. It was early enough that he could still hear the dawn chorus as the blackbirds and robins called across the rambling hills, but it was late enough that he'd jerked awake, wondering why he'd not been awakened by someone on Vladimir's staff, as was the usual in the early morning hours. He shoved his blanket off and swung his feet over the side of the bed as he stretched. Standing up, he yawned, then padded quietly towards the door, turning the handle as slowly as possible and peeking into the hallway through the tiniest crack. There was nothing that he could see that was untoward, the corridor quiet and dark as usual. There wasn't even any noise coming from the lower level, which, at the moment, didn't register as odd.

Lucien stepped out into the hallway, completely aware that he was unarmed. He sidled along the wall, keeping his back pressed against it as he traversed it. There was a noise behind him and he glanced back just long enough to see Sebastian emerge from his own room. Lucien lifted his index finger and pressed it vertically against his lips, shushing Seth without a noise. Seth nodded and pressed himself against the wall, following behind Lucien.

The two of them continued along to the stairwell and peered into the darkness. It was perforated by slices of daylight pouring through the cracks in the drapes and odd shadows of refracted light that were thrown across them. Lucien motioned for Seth to watch his back and was acknowledged by a nod as he descended the staircase. The house was old enough that there were steps on which he landed that the boards creaked and with each one of these he would stop and listen. Seth took stock of which ones made noise and was careful to avoid them as he followed.

As Lucien reached the bottom stair, he was careful to duck behind the thick post where the handrail began, aware that it wouldn't hide him entirely, but that it would at least shield his head and major organs in the event of sudden gunfire. "Vladimir?" he called into the bowels of the house. "Juliet?"

There was no answer as Seth crept the rest of the way down and crouched behind him. "What do you think's happened?" Seth whispered.

Lucien shrugged. "I'm not sure," he replied. "Nothing good, I'm certain."

When it became evident that there was nobody waiting in the shadows to attack them, Lucien led Seth from the landing into the direction of Vladimir's office. Once inside, they shut the door and locked it, using a heavy bureau to block it further. "What the hell is going on?" Seth hissed.

With a shake of his head, Lucien suggested, "Let's see if there's anything in Vladimir's desk that might give us a clue." Before Seth could answer, he was behind the oak console thumbing through the files on top and inside. After making a series of interesting noises indicating his engrossment in the files, he finally pulled one out and said, "I believe I've found it." In his other hand, he'd grabbed a pistol from an adjacent drawer.

Seth leaned over the desk from the opposite side as Lucien set the folder down, flipping it open and disturbing the scraps of paper that were already strewn about on top of it. He recognized a schematic, most likely electrical. "What's that for?" he asked.

Lucien looked up at him and smiled. "A lovely piece of information." He flipped the page and revealed notes and details written in Russian on the backside. "Have you picked up any Russian?" he asked. Seth shook his head, so he continued. "From what I can gather," he paused, "Now, mind you, my Russian has much to be desired," he leaned closer to the page, "This is detailing a very intricate bomb."

"What would Vladimir want with something like that?" Seth wondered. "He wouldn't dare use anything that obvious. Wouldn't it just lie all the blame on him?"

"Or," Lucien surmised, "That's exactly what whoever left this here wants to happen. This isn't even Vladimir's handwriting." He picked up the paper and folded it into his pocket. "I would hazard a guess that this is the proverbial red herring." He walked to the door. "Now, I bet if we find where Vladimir is, we'll find who's planted this." 

He unbarricaded the door and stepped through, holding the pistol at arm's length, cocking it and ready to fire at a moment's notice. With Seth following behind him, they crept the rest of the length of the house, checking in each room they passed, sweeping it like the most well-trained police officer would, leaving no corner un-checked. In the final room, the tiny mud room, they found Juliet cowering behind a solid, overturned bench. She was shivering, wary of their footsteps as they approached. "Stay away," she warned, her voice wavering with fright. "Stay away or I'll hurt you."

"Shhh," Lucien said in an attempt to calm her. "It's me and Seth."

She peeked over the bench and breathed a sigh of relief. "Lucien," she cried as she jumped up and flew into his arms, nuzzling her head against his chest, ignoring the fact that he had a gun in his hand. "They've taken Vladimir."

Lucien tried to shake her, pushing her away with his free hand, but only managing to loosen the tie on her robe she wore. She'd apparently been awakened and was still in her nightclothes. "Get off of me," he growled. "Who took him?"

Juliet shook her head. "I didn't see," she answered. "They were speaking Russian." She readjusted her robe, cinching it around her waist, but letting her breasts bob free in between, their roundness covered only by the thin black silk of a camisole. "I'm afraid."

Seth leaned close to Lucien. "Bratva?" he asked quietly, hoping Juliet couldn't discern what he'd said.

"Possibly," Lucien answered. 

The two men got Juliet settled in Vladimir's office with a bottle of whiskey to calm her nerves, letting her lock the door as they left with promises to return for her. "I'll guard the door," Seth volunteered.

"Right," Lucien replied. He made his way back upstairs to his room, pulled the phone from its hiding spot and flipped it open. There was one message waiting to be heard, the call came in while he was downstairs. He pushed another button and brought the phone to his ear as the automated voice of the inbox began to speak. The caller was the same suspicious voice he'd spoken to the night before. This time, the message was spoken in plain English, the thick accent nearly gone. "I've got Vladimir Korsikov."


	14. Chapter 14

Lucien and Seth stepped off the small twin jet plane onto the tarmac of Ostafyevo International Airport and shook the kinks out of their muscles. The plane, while cramped, had offered them a modicum of security they felt was warranted, given the delicate nature of their operation. Their pilot, Ilia, followed them. "You should know," he said, keeping his voice low, "Vladimir has nearly as many friends in Moscow as he does enemies."

Nodding, Lucien acknowledged his concern. "I am aware of that," he replied. "However, I have some inside information on the standing of Vladimir's regime in the Bratva and it is not good." He turned to Seth. "We'll call your contact from the taxi."

"Yes," Sebastian confirmed. "He is more than willing to meet with us. He's already told me he knows who has Korsikov, it's just a matter of where."

They excused Ilya back to his plane and walked towards the modern metal and glass building that was the main terminal. Each had brought minimal accouterments, sticking with only a backpack that held a change of clothes, their passports and some money. There was no chance they'd get stuck at customs and they wanted to keep it that way. If any officials asked, the story was that they were tourists and that most of their belongings were being sent from their last destination. The ruse was well planned out, their actions perfectly choreographed, should anything go awry.

Inside the terminal, they were surrounded by the hustle and bustle of a major airport, despite Ostafyevo's existence as business class only. The difference was that the crowds they encountered were not families and children, but the reserved, suited upper echelon of corporate types who were more apt to stand in groups drinking scotch from glasses tinkling with ice cubes than relaxing in casual clothes and entertaining themselves with smartphones. Lucien was relieved he'd opted to wear his own tailored suit in anticipation of the kind of people they'd be rubbing elbows with and also glad he'd convinced Seth to do likewise. They stowed the backpack into one of the convenient rental lockers, Lucien pocketed the key, and the men went to blend into the crowd.

As they made their way through, conversing as best they could, learning as they went along, Lucien became aware of a peculiar presence. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and made him look around. His stature at 6'2" was an asset in this instance, because he towered over many of the men and was able to scan the perimeter of the lounge they were in with a fair amount of ease. He spied the man in the corner, attempting to use the crowd around him as camouflage and failing. He hadn't the foresight to act as a chameleon and had thought Lucien and Seth would do the same. Instead of clothing himself in the bespoke suit that was the uniform of the consummate business traveler, he was casual - a plain button-up shirt, a sports jacket, a tie, slacks.

The casual man failed to pick his targets out from the crowd until they were upon him, striding through the crowd as easily as a rudder through current. His eyes widened as he saw Lucien's focused glare fixed upon him, followed by Seth's strength as he grasped his bicep. "Come with us and no one will get hurt," Lucien hissed as they dragged him, half-willing, around the edges of the room. They pulled him through a swinging door that led into a service corridor.

Seth grasped his shirt collar and twisted it into a loose garrote and pushed him up against the utilitarian concrete wall so his legs flailed. "Who are you?"

"I'm nobody," the man answered. "A pawn." He had a weasel-like quality about him, right down to the pointy nose, slightly bucked teeth, beady black eyes and greasy, slicked-back black hair. He sniveled and shrunk back against the wall, a knee-jerk reaction to Lucien raising his hand. His fear was not unwarranted. 

Lucien wore a peculiar expression as he brought his fist square into the soft thew of the pawn's solar plexus. "I doubt they'd send a pawn," he growled next to the man's ear as he reached into the inner pocket of the man's tan sports jacket and pulled a Grach equipped with a silencer out into the space between them. "You were sent to kill us." He held the barrel of it up to the man's head and slid his finger easily over the trigger. "Who do you work for?"

The pawn was shaking, his dread evident in the cold beads of sweat that formed on his forehead and dripped down and the sour smell of urine as his bladder lost control. "I don't...I... " he stuttered. "I don't know. It was anonymous. Once you were dead, I was supposed to bring proof to Ostankino Tower and get my payment." When Seth shook him, he grimaced and shrugged, "That's all I can tell you."

Perhaps the pawn thought he'd be set free, that his anonymity was a safety net upon which he could fall and escape unscathed. He was wrong. Sebastian dropped him, letting his feet hit the cement with a thud. He drew a deep breath as his hand reached up to rub the angry red mark from the collar had dug into the flesh of his pale neck. In his relief, he forgot about the gun, his eyes widening as he heard the click, the meaning of it not registering until it was too late. The bullet hit his temple at point-blank range, blowing his brains onto the wall on the opposite side in a spray of crimson, soft tissue and shattered bone. As his eyes began to fade to the dull blank of a dead man, his body slid down against the wall, coming to a stop in a pile of crumpled business casual on the floor, blood running from the hole in his head and beginning to pool beneath him. Lucien leaned down and wiped his prints from the gun using the man's sport jacket and pressed it into the pawn's own hand, finger on the trigger, angle perfect for a suicide. 

Seth was unhappy, his eyes staring down Lucien as he rose, accusation swirling in them. "What did you kill him for? We could've used him," he huffed.

Lucien began walking into the dark recesses of the corridor. "Are you going to stand there and let them find you?" he asked over his shoulder. "Militsia will be here any minute now. That wasn't as good of a silencer as I'd have liked."

He continued down the service hallway, testing the doors as he found them, looking for one that was unlocked. Sebastian caught up to him in a matter of seconds. "Man, you're crazy," he said, keeping his voice low as Lucien pushed a door open that led into one of the private restrooms. 

"I'm methodical," Lucien replied as they stepped into the brightly lit, white tiled room. He approached the bank of sinks, slid his sleeves up his forearm and turned the water on. "The thing is, that pawn could very easily have been sent as a decoy." He ran his hands under the water.

"How do you figure?" Seth was equal parts enthralled and revolted by his colleague, but took the cue to wash his own hands, making sure to scrub under his nails. 

As they grabbed paper towels from the dispensers on the opposite wall, Lucien replied, "No hit man pisses himself when threatened with the tool of his trade." He didn't wait to hear a response from Sebastian, instead exiting the restroom through the door that led back out into one of the many exclusive bars the airport boasted. They blended in with perfect nonchalance, sidling up to the bar and ordering vodka tonics on the rocks. "Besides," Lucien said, continuing the conversation, "He stuck out like a sore thumb. If working with Martin taught me anything, it was that it's easier to strike at close range, to become friends with your intended mark, to make them feel at ease."

A voice came from behind him just as Seth opened his mouth to speak. "How astute of you." 

Lucien chuckled. "That was definitely not the answer I expected, old pal," he said. "And definitely did not expect you to sound like a woman." He turned around to see a woman clad in a fitted skirt suit that hugged her curves in all the right places, her blond hair pinned in a perfect chignon, her make-up - black winged eye-liner, mascara, red lips, tint of blush - flawless against her pale skin.

She smiled at him. "Mr. Darke, I presume?" she asked. Without giving him a moment to respond, she held out her hand, waving it for him to take. "My name is Valeriya Dragunov. I believe we share a common business associate." When Lucien cocked his eyebrow at her, she nodded. "Aleksei Dorosh?" Leaning closer to him, her lips close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath, she whispered, "Bratva." The word dripped from her, oozing heat.

"Priyatno poznakomit'sya," Lucien nodded. "Will you share a cab to our hotel?"

Valeriya withdrew her hand from his and set it on her hip. "I'm pleased to meet you, as well. Finish your drinks and then we shall leave." She leaned away from the counter and tipped her chin. "It's wonderful to see you again, Sebastian," she said, the tone of her voice, her demeanor indicating something in their shared past.

"Seth," he responded, his confidence turned to a nervousness. "It's nice to see you, again, too, Val."

Once their drinks were finished and nerves calmed, the three of them returned to the lockers and retrieved the backpacks. They exited the terminal and climbed into one of the black cabs waiting out front. Once the door was closed and they'd told the driver their destination, their plans began to unfold.

 


	15. Chapter #15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one has taken so long to get updated, folks. I had to get another fic out of my head before I could dedicate time to this one. That and I had to do a lot of research on the Russian mafia. Anyhow, I hope you enjoy it! I'll be working on this story and this story alone to complete it.

Lucien paced the carpet in the common room of the nondescript hotel room that Val procured for them prior to their visit. She was one of three people who were aware of their visit, the reasons for it, their hopeful outcome. It was still dark outside and the stench of the previous evening's celebratory libations permeated the room along with the dismal smells of stale cigar smoke, sex and sweat. 

Seth was asleep in the smaller of the bedrooms in the suite, his snores rattling the wall with their enormity. He'd taken a bottle of the good vodka to bed with him and, most likely, left it spent on the duvet next to him. The limits of his social interaction were tested with the addition of Val's presence, for she was exuberant to the point of excitement, pushing him further into his secretive shell as she tried in desperation to draw him out.

Once Seth had retreated to the sanctuary of his own abode, Luc and Val continued their celebrating. She'd challenged Lucien to a battle of drinks with the proclamation that she could drink him under the table. Being the man he was, Lucien took the bet. Shots of the finest Russian vodka were lined up on the low coffee table and the opponents sat opposite each other on the floor. Val's eyes sparkled in the low lamp light as she thrilled at the prospect of besting him. 

After consumption of only five shots each, Lucien was pleasantly surprised when she rose from the table and slid off the blouse she'd been covertly unbuttoning while he was focused on the shot glasses. "I surrender," she smiled as the fabric slipped from her arms and pooled at her feet on the carpet. She wore nothing under and Lucien couldn't help but admire the roundness of them as she leaned forward and beckoned him to stand. "I can think of other, better activities to pass the time." Her accent seemed to have gotten thicker.

Luc grinned, slightly inebriated. He didn't protest when she reached out and began unbuttoning his shirt, kissing the bare skin of his neck as she did so, and enticing goosebumps to form on his skin, despite the heat of the room. He let out a slow moan as she reached the last button of the shirt and began working on his slacks. "Should we go elsewhere?" he asked."

Val stepped over the table between them and knocked over the remaining shots on the table as she did. "I think here is fine," she replied, pushing the waistband of his pants down with the elastic of the boxers he wore. "I see I'm not the only one who wants this," she purred, using her bared foot to push the rest of the obstructing fabric to the floor.

He caught her in his arms as she stood straight and pulled her into him, pressing his lips to hers with a hunger. The kiss unleashed every ounce of shared desire between them and they barely noticed when they fell upon the dingy hotel room sofa. Lucien hiked Val's skirt up and found, as she straddled him, she was more than prepared for the occasion. "A bit of commando?" he quipped as he cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Always," she smiled mischievously as she ground her hips into him, giving him access to her most secret parts. 

Though they made a fair amount of noise, with the moans and the giggles and the orgasmic screams, their tryst did not wake Seth as he slept. He seemed blissfully unaware of the carnal energy created just outside his door. Luc and Val were left sweaty, blissful, and exhausted, lying in a pile of blushing flesh on the sofa, retiring to their respective rooms only after tidying up the mess from their affair.

It was to this that Lucien referred in the morning with more concern than ardor. He berated himself for having forgotten the key element of his work there - the need to maintain a professional distance from any and all allies, lest they get back to higher authorities the true nature of his visit. As Val, bleary eyed and every bit the mess as he'd left her the previous night, emerged from her quarters, Lucien studied her coldly. "Last night was a mistake," he growled as she passed him and ran a possessive palm across his ass. 

"You didn't seem to think so after a few drinks," she laughed, still flirting.

He reached back and grasped her wrist, stopping her with a jerk. "It will not happen again," he replied coldly. "We... I cannot afford the consequences of any more... actions."

The smile fell from Val's face. "I understand," she demurred. As he released her arm, she held it against her abdomen and stroked it as though he'd burned her, though he'd held her so gently there was not even the impression of fingers left. She made a point to avoid Lucien's direct gaze as she retreated to a chair on the other side of the room. 

This was where Seth found them when he awakened - Val on the chair looking like a frightened rabbit, Lucien glowering in the opposite corner of the room, studying a pile of papers he'd produced from an attache on the desk. "I see it's not all sunshine and roses," he said wryly as he approached Lucien. 

"Sebastian," Val began, her sentence cut short by a sharp glance from Luc.

Seth's attention followed Luc's. "I see," he observed, "A lover's quarrel, do I not?" He turned an inquisitive eye to Lucien. 

"It's been taken care of," Luc replied, his voice steady and assured.

Nodding his head, Seth responded, "Good. We can't afford any of that here." He glanced at the papers in Lucien's hands. "Is that the dossier?"

"Indeed," Luc answered. "Delivered this morning." From the corner of his eye, he saw the questioning look on Val's face. "I slept very little," he explained. He wasn't sure why he'd felt the need to add a comment about his sleep. perhaps it was justifying his haggard appearance to Seth, perhaps to placate Val. Either way, neither of his companions seemed to notice his uncertainty.

Their instructions were simple. Knowing that Vladimir had an eye for beautiful women, Valeriya would play a key role. She was known as a doll of the Bratva, a woman whose sole function was the comfort and pleasure of the brotherhood. It was the men in the upper echelon that benefited from her presence, but she, like many other dolls, usually served as nothing more than a glorified assistant. She'd been responsible for the welcoming of Lucien and Sebastian, for the procurement of their lodgings, and for their entertainment for the duration of their stay. It had turned from an indentured servant come prostitute venture to a respectable position - one that would allow her to work in the outside world should she ever choose to. In the case of the coup against Vladimir, the only assets that would matter would be her physical ones.

Val sat on her chair while the men discussed the plans. She was only slightly interested in their dissection of the details and, after nearly an hour of listening to them go back and forth on one particular point, she stood and announced, "I'm going to take a shower and put myself back together." Both Luc and Seth stopped talking and nodded at her before returning back to their papers. She slammed the bathroom door behind her in a huff.

"Vladimir will have his guards with him at all times," Seth said. "We need to play this one close to the cuff."

Lucien pursed his lips, then replied, "I agree. If any of his cronies catch on to why we're really there, we might as well pull the triggers ourselves." 

It was a delicate task they undertook and they both knew and understood the risks. They were sure that Val knew the risks of her part as well, but she was not privy to the details. The less she knew, the better. If they were successful, it would mean the takedown of one of the most successful, and most reviled, of the Bratva, as well as ensure their own succession. 

When Valeriya emerged from her shower, she was dressed in a navy skirt suit and had her hair pulled into a chignon. Her make-up was perfect, but she looked more haggard than the previous day. "I see how it is," she said, narrowing her eyes at the men, her words stabbing at them like so many knives. "Since I am the woman, I deserve to know nothing. I am nothing more than a man's plaything, am I not? Nothing more than a pawn in your game of chess."

Lucien held his hands out in surrender and began to speak in a gentle tone meant to subdue what he perceived as an oncoming rage. "Val," he began, "It really is for your own safety." He began to step towards her, but Seth's arm shot out in front of him, stopping his progress.

"No," he whispered, his voice taking on a fierce growl. "She plays. It is the nature of the beast."

Val's face flooded with red rage as she clutched her hands into fists and stomped on the carpeted floor. "Oh," she screamed, "You male pigs!" She spat at them, her saliva landing within inches of their Italian leather shoes. She stomped back into her room and slammed the door.

"Why did you need to exacerbate the situation, Seth?" Luc asked as he backed away. "We need her to cooperate."

Seth shook his head. "Luc, my friend," he answered, "These dolls. They're meant for play, for the tasks of assistants. They're not meant to know anything about why they do what they do, only that we need them to accomplish a task." He reached out to clap his hand on Lucien's shoulder, but Luc ducked away.

He studied his friend for a moment, regarding him with a mental magnifying glass. What he observed was a man who was driven, nearly as much as himself, but a man who he knew he shouldn't trust. Sebastian had already gone turncoat against Vladimir and Lucien wanted to make sure he did not betray their own cause as well. He wanted to test the man and make sure he was trustworthy. Only then would he have the piece of mind to allow Seth access to his own plans. The only way he could was after the coup of Vladimir. Luc turned towards his own room. "I need some time to get my head in the game," he said over his shoulder as he walked through the door. "I want to memorize these papers and make sure our plan is entirely foolproof before we attempt to execute it."

"We've been over it," Seth said, irritated as he sat down on the sofa. "It's perfect."

"I just want to make sure," Lucien protested. "If Val decided to show her face again, make sure you don't completely upset her, please." He saw Seth nod as he lit a cigarette.

What Lucien really wanted to do was amend the plan, just slightly. As he scoured the pages and looked for the perfect opening, he smiled to himself. If they pulled it off, if he pulled it off, it would be the most immense coup the Bratva had ever seen. Lucien Darke would be the mastermind of it all and it was he who stood to gain the most. He intended on taking over the organization, piece by piece if he had to. Seth, though his motivation was purely revenge on Vladimir, would be a key player, and Valeriya, well, she had potential. Potential, that is, if she did not end up as collateral damage.


	16. Chapter #16

From inside the tinted windows of the limousine, Lucien could see just enough of the gathering of Bratva as they milled in the lantern-lit courtyard of a palatial estate. Gentlemen were dressed in sharp, black tuxedos with black bow ties, most of them holding cigars and highball glasses containing various amounts of clear liquid, most likely the best vodka on the market, and small cubes of ice. The formal dresses of the women draped on their arms sparkled and cast dancing shimmers around the courtyard as their polite laughter seeped through the windows of the car.

In the center of the party, as expected, Vladimir Korsikov laughed and toasted with his comrades, oblivious to the storm that came his way. Luc was taken aback by the beauty of Juliet as she clung to his side, her smile more luminous than all the lanterns. He regretted that such rare beauty would suffer, but he also knew she was an integral part of his plan, even though she was not aware of it. 

Turning towards Sebastian, Lucien motioned towards the group in the courtyard. "I see the king is ready to be deposed," he smirked. "You know what to do."

Seth nodded. "When you give the signal."

The men, dressed to the nines in their own right, exited the limo as soon as the driver opened their doors. Their arrival was of no consequence to the rest of those in attendance, only another addition of Bratva to the soiree. Lucien led the way, easing though the crowd like a luxury ship through smooth waters, followed by Seth. They greeted each member of the cartel with a nod and a smile, silent acknowledgement of the brotherhood they all shared. 

"Ah! Gentlemen!" Vladimir exclaimed as he spied them. "I am so glad you made it. Were your accommodations satisfactory?" He extended his hand.

Lucien grasped the hand he offered and smiled. "Exceptional," he smiled. "I wouldn't have expected any less."

"And Valeriya?" 

"She'll be along later," Luc answered with a knowing wink. "You know how those women are."

Vladimir's head bobbed in solidarity as he motioned toward Juliet. "Yes, I do."

"Hey!" she exclaimed as she gave his arm a playful smack with the clutch she held in her free hand. "I do believe I was ready before you were tonight."

"Hello, Juliet," Seth said as he emerged from behind Lucien, his presence immediately upsetting the easy camaraderie between the trio. "Vladimir."

Sebastian was the dark horse in the organization, someone who had the capacity to be thought of as a loose cannon were he to decide to go rogue. He upset the status quo of the Bratva when he attended functions, a reputation he had no desire to outlive. The fact that he was there automatically caused unease amongst several members of the faction, their discomfort apparent in the loss of their cheerful smiles, which were replaced by stolid concern, the relaxed language of their statures replaced by taut alertness. Vladimir was no different. "Seth, I had no idea you planned on attending," he said as he cleared his throat.

Lucien intervened. "I asked him to come," he explained. "I felt that, given my circumstances, it was best to have a body guard."

Vladimir took a deep breath. "Is that all?" he said with a false cheer. "I understand." He seemed to hesitate for a moment before continuing. "Given that this is your first introduction, I will give you a pass. There is plenty security provided here," he gestured towards several agents dressed entirely in black and skulking in the shadows of the perimeter, "You needn't have brought Seth."

The move was a slight surprise, but not unexpected. Luc knew there were security guards, he even knew who many of them were from their various comings and goings at the compound, but he hadn't expected Vladimir to reveal them willingly. Of course, he had no idea of the hellfire that would rain down upon his head in no less than an hour and a half. "I feel much safer," Luc grinned. "But I do recommend we let our dear comrade stay and assist if needed. I've got an inkling of something unpleasant this evening." He felt no compunction in alluding to the events planned, certain that Vladimir would think something entirely different was happening until everything came to fruition.

"I suppose I should trust your instincts," Vladimir acquiesced. "Given the experiences you've already had in your young life." 

A man emerged from the veranda and waved his hand at Korsikov. "My presence is required in the great room," he sighed. He unwound his arm from Juliet's grip and placed her hand upon Lucien's forearm. "Do take care of my dove, won't you?" There was a seriousness in his eyes that made Lucien shudder.

"My pleasure," Lucien said as he smiled at Juliet. 

Seth was eagle-eyed as he watched Vladimir disappear through the crowd, then reappear next to the man who'd summoned him. They appeared to exchange heated words until the man shrugged in deference and followed Korsikov into the dark confines of the estate house. "I don't like this," he mumbled. "Korsikov knows there is something planned."

Ever-present in the moment, Luc shot his heel into Sebastian's shin - a warning because Juliet was present. "Seth, my friend," he said, "Would you be so kind as to fetch the lady a drink?"

Juliet's face held a frozen, saccharine-sweet expression. "Please. Champagne," she added. 

Once Seth was out of earshot, Lucien growled, "I know what you are," into her ear. "You will never be able to hide the fact that you are nothing but a doll to him. You could've had everything with anyone else. Cam. Martin. Me."

Her face dropped. "Cam was an abusive asshole," she spat. "You saw. You saw the way that he used me and the way that he tore me from everything and everyone I loved."

"But you loved the prestige once you were there, didn't you?" He replied. "And what about your son? Shuttered away in some boarding school, I suppose. Destined to build no feasible relationship with either parent."

She shook her head. "No, it's not like that..." she protested, stumbling over her words. "He's living with my family."

Luc shook his head. "And yet, you are here with Vladimir. I wonder how many other women he's had follow him so blindly." His face set into an emotionless masque. "In fact, I would bet on my mother's grave that he has other women even now. You may be the queen at the moment, but he's the kind of man who would be ready to depose you at any inkling of betrayal."

From the corner of his eye, Lucien saw another car arrive. It was not a limousine, but a nondescript passenger car, painted black, with darkly tinted windows. Had he been home, the car would certainly have belonged to a government official, someone high-ranking and in need of utmost privacy. Here, it was Valeriya who emerged from the backseat. She was dressed in a more risque outfit than she'd been when she greeted him at the airport. She gave a surreptitious glance around the party, taking stock of those in attendance, particularly the security detail. Her eyes swept over the faces of Lucien and Juliet and she gave such a tiny nod that it was barely noticeable. Lucien winked at her and she disappeared behind a hedge, on her way into the main manor house. It was exactly as he'd instructed her to do. 

Sebastian returned with a glass of champagne just as Val disappeared. He handed the glass to Juliet. "My lady," he smiled.

"Thank you," she returned, lifting the glass to her lips and taking a tentative sip. "Delicious."

On instinct, she wrapped her hand around Lucien's bicep, her fingers idly tracing along the muscle under the fine tuxedo fabric. It was a move that made him nervous, if not for the sheer awkwardness of the history between them, then for the fact that she was attending with Vladimir and everyone knew it. In a gesture more flirtatious than not, the simple act was something that made Luc more of a target than he'd anticipated. Perhaps leaving her there with him was part of a calculated move on Korsikov's part, perhaps not, but Lucien was not about to play along. Juliet was a threat to their entire operation for the evening. He wrested his arm from her grip and clasped her fingers with his opposite hand. "Let's not give anyone ideas," he whispered.

Juliet was taken aback, but her surprise at Lucien's reaction was usurped by the announcement for the congregation to move indoors. She opened her mouth as though she intended on protesting, but nothing came out. Instead, her jaw snapped shut and she only nodded as her face flushed. It was the indication that Luc needed to confirm his suspicions. He was tempted to hand her off to Sebastian, but he new his cohort had more important things to contend with. As it was, his friend had disappeared into the migrating crowd, most likely to scope out the indoors as much as he had the outdoors. Instead, his grasp moved to Juliet's wrist, where he grasped a little too hard and elicited a small huff of protest. "Let's return you to your love," he growled as he dragged her through the melee. 

The building was nearing ancient compared to the constructs that surrounded it. The walls were worn brick stained with centuries of coal fire and pollution. It was still a beautiful manor, but the white rococo details were chipped and worn, covered by the same gray caste as the bricks. There were high, leaded glass windows that towered from floor to the second story and from inside them, there were the lights of crystal chandeliers that were blocked only by the luxurious green velvet drapes. As Lucien and Juliet climbed the granite staircase with the crowd, he glanced at her. She seemed nonplussed, her eyes not admiring the breadth of the architecture and the antiquity, instead she stared blankly in front of her. 

Luc glanced around the room as they emerged into a great ballroom with parquet floors, flanked on either side by sweeping staircases that led to a common balcony above the far side. He could see Sebastian as he stood on the balcony to the left, his figure hidden mostly by the shadow of a potted ficus. His eyes were fixed on Vladimir as he talked animatedly with another of his compatriots, and Valeriya, her arms holding his waist and her head leaned on his shoulder. 

Val spied Lucien from her perch and sent a sly wink in his direction. He nodded his head, but just enough that Juliet didn't notice, and neither did anyone else in their vicinity. Everything was going according to plan. 

The moment Juliet saw Vladimir with another woman on his arm, she saw red. She attempted to break away from Lucien, but he held fast to her wrist. "That asshole," she spat, her face turning red with anger. "Leave me with you so he can cavort with another woman."

"This would not be the proper time nor place to make a scene," Lucien warned. "These people do not take kindly to threats, especially to one of their esteemed leaders." The words felt dry as they passed his lips, though he hoped they didn't sound insincere. 

Juliet nodded. "I understand. I'd be putting myself in more danger and all for some common hussy. I know he loves me."

"Exactly," Luc replied.


	17. Chapter #17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loyal readers! I've actually had time to finish this chapter and I hope to have time to wrap this one up in the next couple chapters.  
> Thanks for reading!

Val excused herself from Vladimir's company and made her way to the shadows where Seth skulked. He was accustomed to watching everyone from the peripherals and here, though his position was not that of bodyguard, he still stood at attention, each and every muscle tense under the white button-down shirt and tuxedo jacket he wore. He'd refused a tie, arguing that, were he to get in a situation where he'd have to defend someone, he didn't want it to thwart his actions. "Vladimir seems at the top of his game," he commented, not taking his eyes off the enigmatic Russian.

"He is," Val agreed. "Too bad he won't be there for long."

Sebastian shot her a concerned glance, but she didn't notice. Neither he nor Luc had told her about this particular mission. "What makes you say that?" he whispered under his breath.

She hunkered closer to him and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, attempting to give anyone who passed by the impression that they were lovers and were getting cozy. "I've heard rumblings," she answered, the warmth of her breath a wisp past his ear. "Some of the Bratva here say that Martin is looking for Vladimir and intends to usurp him."

"Who?" His question hung in the air like breath on a cold morning and she opened her mouth to answer, but she heard her name from the center of the crowd.

Her attention was snatched away and she scanned the crowd, loosening her grasp around his shoulders. Vladimir was standing next to Luc, his arm around the waist of Juliet with her smug smile. She claimed what was hers with every ounce of her being. "Excuse me, Seth," Val said as she moved away from him.

Seth grasped her forearm and squeezed just enough to cause the flesh around his fingers to redden. "Do not say anything to anyone about what you've heard," he growled. His dark eyes narrowed until she nodded her head. He let go and she immediately touched her arm where his hand had been, rubbing it to soothe the area where she hoped there wouldn't be bruises.

When Valeriya reached the clique in the center of the room, she pasted on a huge smile and made sure she acknowledged Juliet first. "You look lovely tonight," she complimented, hoping to win the other woman's favor. "Vlad couldn't have done better for himself. I've never seen him so happy."

The flattery worked, for the moment. Juliet beamed and snuggled closer into Vladimir's side, enjoying her time as the most envied woman in the room. Her smile was smug, her eyes flickering with satisfaction, daring any other woman to challenge her. 

It was this reaction that Val counted on. She nodded slightly towards Lucien and watched him as he wove back through the crowd from his perch on the staircase landing. Glancing at Seth, she nodded again, indicating that it was time to make his move. Seth snaked his way towards her, intent on his role in the mission, but he stopped halfway through and his expression froze, his eyes fixed on the doorway to the ballroom. Valeriya turned her attention back to Luc and he, too, had stopped and was staring at the doorway. As she followed his gaze, she realized that the entire congregation was stark still and everyone but the chamber orchestra was silent.

Martin Goins stood in the archway, his presence commanding attention, his face a masque of composure as his eyes swept over the audience at large. He had traded the casual khaki pants and polo shirts he'd favored during Lucien's tenure for a smartly-tailored tuxedo with tails, black tie, and top hat and Lucien barely recognized his former benefactor. He did, however, recognize the imposing presence of Andre, a few steps behind and to the left in the shadows. He'd shaved his head completely smooth, an act that made him seem even more menacing than before. 

Korsikov shook his arm free from a frightened Juliet, terrified that Martin would recognize her and act upon the circumstances of their last acquaintance. She shivered as Vladimir left her there in the middle of the crowd, to make his way through the parting aisle of men and women that formed between himself and Martin.

"Ah," Vladimir exclaimed, "Mr. Martin Goins! What a pleasure it is." He bowed with his hand behind his back, ever the gentleman. 

"Korsikov," Martin chuckled. "It's been a long time, old friend." He stepped down the marble staircase into the ballroom, his shoes clacking against the polished stone and echoing with an ominous resonance in the high corners of the room. It occurred to him that Vladimir was being entirely too polite, and it unnerved him. From the corner of his eyes, he spied Lucien as he made his way to and winked in his direction, hoping it was discreet enough that Vladimir paid no attention.

The men grasped hands and shook, their vigor overshadowing the obvious tension between them, then quickly hugged each other, clapping their free hands forcefully on each others' back. Martin half expected a whispered threat in his ear from the Russian, but there was none. Instead, his adversary commended him. "You're a clever man, Martin."

Puzzled, Martin pulled away from him. "What do you mean?" he asked, suspecting an ulterior motive in the old Russian's complement. 

Vladimir smiled, his broad grin revealing white teeth that glinted in the lights of the room. "Ahhh, you know me well," he replied. "Your presence here was unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome." 

Martin shifted his feet, discreetly trying to hide how uncomfortable the situation had become. He had planned on intimidation, imagining that his presence at the soiree would throw Korsikov from his proverbial pedestal. He wondered if someone had tipped the man off, but he was confident that all those who'd known had kept their mouths shut. A quick glance at Lucien provided no confirmation to the suspicion and he knew better than to question Valeriya. He concluded it was a matter of Vladimir Korsikov's unshakable security as the figurehead of the Bratva and his confidence in being surrounded by those he often referred to as "My people." "Well," he sighed, "Glad to know I'm welcome."

From the wings, Sebastian watched the exchange, his interest veiled in thin apathy that waned when neither of the men he watched made a threatening move. The entire scene left him uneasy, as though the prospect of the expected traitorous action was his only cause for the evening. His eyes sought out the players of the game as Martin moved away from Vladimir, and Korsikov turned his attention back to Juliet. Lucien was adjacent to Seth, deep in conversation with another of Vladimir's cronies, his eyes occasionally sweeping over the crowd as he kept tabs on the action. Valeriya was nowhere to be seen and Seth was suspicious that she'd found her entertainment for the evening in the arms of another handsome thug. 

"Well, comrade," the man to Lucien's left said as he lightly smacked Luc's shoulder, "If you believe that, perhaps it is you that should be heading this organization and not Vladimir Korsikov."

Luc nodded and laughed, still distracted by the appearance of Martin, but making a concentrated effort not to let the event throw him from his endgame. "But you see, comrade," he smiled, "Perhaps I am already destined for that."

The man's face fell. "Bogokhul'stvo," he scowled. "That type of talk will earn you a red necktie in no time." He drew his thumb up to his neck and drew it across, a crude, macabre imitation of a throat slit. In a more hushed tone, he turned from the others in his party and leaned close to Lucien. "I would keep quiet, just the same, were I in your shoes. Vladimir has ears in this room."

"Spasibo," Lucien replied as he backed away from the group so he could keep both Martin and Korsikov in his line of sight. He bowed at his conversational companion and turned towards his mark. As he moved, so did Sebastian - the man's lithe figure curling from the peripherals of the ballroom like smoke through the crowd. Luc knew their plan was inevitable and needed, but he had second thoughts on the timing of the event.

As Seth wound his way to the rear of Vladimir's personal entourage, Luc began his own journey through the ballroom to join him. When they'd both reached the outer flanks of Korsikov's cronies, their attention was drawn away.

A man, one of the higher-ups in the Bratva climbed to the staircase landing and shouted for the cacophony of the crowd to cease for his announcement. Valeriya appeared from the shadows at his side and grasped his arm like the adoring doll she was trained to be. "Vnimaniye," the man called, the force of his words shaking the jowls of his meaty cheeks and conjuring beads of sweat on his reddened forehead. "Attention!" Once the noise died down, he cleared his throat. "The doors on either side will be open momentarily." He gestured in a grand sweeping motion towards French doors that had previously been camouflaged by large ficus trees. They were pulled open by men in traditional livery uniforms. "We invite you to join us in viewing tonight's performance of 'Scheherazade.' We will begin seating after our esteemed leaders are comfortable in their boxes."

Luc chuckled at the irony. An opera written by Rimsky-Korsakov performed for Korsikov. He followed along as Vladimir's men were swept towards the doors on the left, his intention to stay behind thwarted by Korsikov's insistence that both Luc and Seth join them. Martin abdicated his place in the group, escaping towards the right-hand doors and the jowly man's entourage. Luc watched as Martin disappeared into the crowd of people siphoning into the auditorium. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Seth, a look of utter concern shadowing his face as his brows knit closer together. Lucien pushed through the entourage until he was by Seth's side. "Do you know what Martin is planning?" he asked Luc.

"Not at all," Lucien answered. He knew Sebastian was to be trusted, that he was as disillusioned with Vladimir Korsikov's empty promises and delusions of grandeur as well, but he also knew that there were some things best left unsaid. Though the evening's big event would come with the blessing of the Bratva, Luc did not want to see Seth or Val caught in it. Were they, they'd be labeled as not trustworthy and would no longer be viable sources as Bratva operatives.

The crowd provided a rhythmic ebb and flow through the open doors of the auditorium and Koriskov's entourage was swept like detritus on the ocean. Once they'd been pushed through, the wave subsided and the compact river of formal bodies loosened as ushers directed people to their seats. One such usher grasped Lucien's elbow as he made to follow Vladimir and Juliet. "Sir," he grumbled in a thick accent that seemed more Middle Eastern than Russian, "You are Lucien Darke, correct?" Luc nodded his head. "Your seats are here." He pointed at a small box on the main level. "Your friend is already seated."

Seth moved towards the box indicated, his body taut and alert. He seemed to have a sixth sense for danger and his hackles were up. Sure that they were to be ambushed as they entered the box, he discreetly drew a pistol to his side, hiding it just within the confines of his tuxedo jacket pocket. With his empty hand, he reached and swept back the heavy velvet curtain that shielded the back of the box from the public hallway behind it. Valeriya was sitting in the seat to the far right, her attention towards the audience as they were seated for the performance. Seth let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, Val, it's just you," he chuckled.

Valeriya didn't move. 

Seth gathered himself again, a spring tightening as he reached out and touched her shoulder. He jarred her just enough that her body moved. Val's head fell backward and lolled to the side, a wound of crimson gaped at her neck, a cascade of blood was drying on her flesh and staining the front of her dress and her eyes stared at him, lifeless and dull. "Val," he whispered, "I'm sorry."

"Is everything alright?" Lucien asked, his view of Val's body blocked by Sebastian's hulking form.

Seth turned around and revealed the scene. "Nothing is alright," he said, his voice solemn. "It will never be alright again."


	18. Chapter #18

A melee resulted from a woman catching a glimpse of Val's body. The woman screamed and brought attention to the box. An usher attempted to push his way through the crowd that gathered in the hallway, his commanding voice booming, "Izvinite!" "Excuse me!"

Lucien reached and grabbed Seth's forearm to pull him away, but Seth did not budge. "Seth," Luc pleaded, keeping his voice low, "We need to go." He saw Sebastian shake his head and turn his steely gaze upward towards the other side of the auditorium. Just before Luc was swept away into the crowd, he followed Seth's eyes towards one of the premier box seats. There, seated with a smug grin, was Vladimir, his own eyes staring back at Seth in defiance.

In the torrent of people, Lucien was first shoved further down the hallway, then pressed against the wall, barely able to breathe. He could hear nothing specific in the cacophony of the auditorium as it reverberated through the corridor. There were screams and confusion and, as far as he could discern, there was a general uneasiness that had overtaken the crowd. He knew the Bratva was accustomed to violence and its members well-acquainted with the cold breath of death, but the women were not. Surprisingly, they were not the only ones panicking. He'd been elbowed and grabbed by the arm by gentle female fingers in the hallway, but just as many of the men had strong-armed him and pushed him forward as they tried to find an exit and flee the scene.

As he was smashed against the wall for the umpteenth time, Luc was able to slide against the rough paint and duck to a doorway. He'd hoped it wasn't locked and was pleased when his elbow pressing against the release bar pushed the door open and he fell into a dark room. The door closed with a near-silent woosh, it's presence not picked up upon by anyone else in the corridor. Lucien surmised that they were all too worried about the killer that was certainly amidst them to pay much mind to a dark room. He pushed his feet against the door to secure it until his eyes adjusted to the blackness. 

The window in the back glowed with the faint illumination of one of the building's exterior lights and it provided just enough that Luc could see the outlines form of office furniture in the room. He guessed he was in the main business center of the building, judging by the desks with darkened computer screens and the row of metal file cabinets flanking the far right wall. Rotating himself so his back was against the door, he stood up, sliding against the wood grain until he could reach the deadbolt lock. Once he felt the cool metal in his fingers and had turned it until he heard the telltale click of security, Luc let out a deep sigh of relief.

He wasn't sure if it was safe enough to turn the lights on, so he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and used it to explore his surroundings more. As he moved around the room, certain things caught his eyes - papers on desks, a ledger, a notepad - all indicating untoward activities. Of course, the building was a major hub for the Bratva, he reasoned, so it seemed a likely thing to find, but all of them made mention of one person in particular. "Martin," he whispered to himself. Lucien knew that Martin's ultimate goal, of course, was to assume control of the Bratva and he would be able to do just that once Vladimir was gone. 

Luc decided to turn on one of the computer screens. One desk in the corner appeared to be more the type of a person in charge, so he chose that one, and pushed the power button on the right side of the screen. It glowed to life, showing him a wallpaper of a tropical island and a palm tree. Grasping the mouse, he clicked to take the computer out of sleep mode. It was password protected. Disappointed, he almost turned the screen off to try a different workstation, but a cursory glance around the desk brought his attention to a small, framed picture that sat on the far corner. The man who regularly attended the desk was rotund, his jolly smile a wide, white fissure in what otherwise looked like a mound of flesh with tiny eyes. He held a large fish in his corpulent hand, the fishing line wrapped tightly around his fingers and putting indentations in them. He wore a loud Hawaiian shirt - yellow and orange with large red hibiscus flowers on it - and Lucien guessed it was from a recent vacation. 

He also guessed that he looked like the type of man that would hide his password in his desk. The assumption paid off as he rifled through the drawers. In the bottom drawer, in the far back, there was a false back. Luc tapped on it and heard the emptiness reverberate. He knelt down for better leverage and slid his finger tips into the notch at the top of the false back. Pulling it towards himself, he felt the back pop out of place on one side. This allowed him to easily reach into the farthest recesses and pull out a small memo pad. Not only was the password for the man's computer written inside it, but also his passwords for email and a variety of other sites.

Once the computer was turned back on and the password entered, Luc dove into research. He logged into the man's email and found nothing untoward there, but when he searched the man's internet history, he turned up a treasure trove of secret accounts. As he combed through each of these, he turned up more and more dirt. Hopeful that the crowd outside the door was still noisily traversing the hallway, he printed each one off on an old, dramatically noisy printer. No one tried to open the door, much less jiggled the handle. He was thankful once he was done.

Lucien folded the papers and tucked them into the waistband of his tuxedo pants, pulling his jacket over the top to hide them from view. He didn't want them to be found because he knew that sort of mistake was a costly one. Not only had he found incriminating evidence on the desk's normal occupant, who, it seemed, had engaged in a good amount of skimming money from the building's ownership, but also the numbers and details of several of Vladimir Korsikov's off-shore accounts. Lucien was not sure if the large man was a part of the Bratva, or if he was one of Vladimir's private operatives, but he vowed to find out. No matter what he was or who he worked for, the man was a target and Luc wanted to reach him before anyone else. 

He thought the man was bound to be somewhere at the soiree, but that he'd more likely not stand out. The only way to find him would be to ask someone he could trust, but Luc was not sure who he could. Vladimir was obviously catching on to the collusion against him. Seth was already apprehended as the scene he'd stumbled into had been tooled to make him look guilty. Valeriya was dead. Though Lucien knew he should feel some sort of emotion at the thought, he didn't. She'd lived the life of a Bratva Doll and she died as well as would be expected for someone who routinely entertained their ilk.

Martin was the only one Lucien could trust with any certainty, and he had not seen his mentor since they'd been shuffled into the auditorium.

Steeling himself for the crowd outside, Luc unlocked the door and opened it just enough to see what the situation looked like. To his relief, a majority of the people who'd clogged the corridor were gone, leaving just a few milling around. Music flooded the hall instead and he assumed the performance was going as planned, despite the tragedy that marred it earlier. He couldn't help but think of how different the reaction to Val's death was. Had the same incident happened at home, he was sure the entire building would face evacuation and authorities called. He slid out the door and closed it behind him, his hand guiding it until the latch gave a near-silent click. 

Once Lucien was safely beyond the confines of the corridor, he searched for a staircase within the auditorium that would take him to Vladimir's box. Action was imminent, given the nature of the evening's festivities and it was of the utmost importance that Korsikov's death seemed like retaliation for Valeriya's red necktie. He avoided the ushers and turned away from the few people that were finding their seats after a visit to the restrooms with the hopes that his efforts kept him unnoticed, or at least unrecognizable. Luc found himself at the foot of the stairs he was searching for and began to climb them. Lines of LED lights illuminated the steps and shown brighter than the dimmed lighting from the wall sconces. He ran the calculations in his head again as he reached the upper landing - Vladimir Korsikov was sitting in the third box down, his vantage point a direct line across the audience to the box where Val was.

The door to the box was ajar, a flickering coming through it as a soprano moved across the stage with grand gestures and the shuffle of crinolines and silks. Luc peeked through the opening and could see them, Vladimir, Juliet, another of Vladimir's Bratva cronies who was oblivious to the turmoil within the organization and fiercely loyal to Korsikov, a man known by the name of "Olen'," or Stag. As Lucien pushed the door the rest of the way, he caught Olen's attention and the man's bald head turned, his eyes leering in Luc's direction. Before he could alert Vladimir, He stiffened, his body rigid in its seat as a small stream of blood began to come from his mouth. Luc thought he'd been stunned until he saw Seth crouched behind the chairs with a sniper rifle in the box across the auditorium. The silencer was effective, but the vibrato tones carrying from the tenor on stage helped to further stifle the shot. Seth nodded and Luc nodded back.

Juliet heard the noise from Olen's body as it slumped against the chair, then fell on the floor beside. Luc entered her peripherals as he tried to slip behind Vladimir. He held his index finger against his pursed lips in a "Shhh." She nodded and held her hands over her mouth to stop the gasp of surprise that slipped through them. Luc motioned for her to turn around and she acquiesced, halfheartedly watching the action on stage.

Vladimir was far too absorbed in the opera and paid no mind to the actions of those around him. Lucien guessed he felt safe enough with Olen as a body guard, and felt well-protected by the rest of the Bratva. Despite his unobservant demeanor, he surprised Luc when he did not startle as Luc held the cold barrel of a Smith & Wesson .45 to the back of his neck. Instead, Korsikov deadpanned, "I know why you are here."

Lucien didn't give Vladimir the satisfaction of knowing his assassin. He cocked the gun, letting the slide pop into place next to Vladimir's ear. His finger fluttered near the trigger, though he was not nervous. Instead, Luc was gauging where he could point the pistol and guarantee death. He aimed for the base of Korsikov's skull and tilted the barrel slightly upward, hoping the blast would obliterate the man's brain stem and kill him instantly. 

The shot rang out and it's sharp call ricocheted around the building, stopping the show and causing another melee. Vladimir's body slumped forward far enough that he hung awkwardly over the balcony wall in front of him. Juliet leaned against him, her head rested on his back as though she was asleep. The moment Seth heard Lucien's shot, he'd aimed at Juliet and caught her between the eyes. 

By the time ushers flooded Vladimir's box and made another gruesome discovery, Luc was gone, his escape provided by an inconspicuous costume change hidden behind the draperies of the box seats. Seth, too vanished, leaving behind the untraceable weapon he'd used and nothing more.


End file.
